


Silhouette

by L1av



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Compliant, Depressed Steve Rogers, Dimension Travel, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits, Love Confessions, M/M, Switch Bucky Barnes, Switch Thor, Unresolved Sexual Tension, depressed Thor, switch steve rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-04-30 11:01:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 30,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14495505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L1av/pseuds/L1av
Summary: Steve never thought the Avengers could lose, but they did. Steve isn't the only one who lost someone. Thor lost everything. Misery loves company, and the two delve into an understanding-- to be there for each other, physically and emotionally, at least until Steve finds Bucky again and confesses his love. Because not all hope is lost. The ones they thought died may not have died at all, but have been transported to another dimension. This is Steve's last chance and he won't let Bucky go this time.But Bucky? He's just trying to keep the people he's been transported with from killing each other and or dying of starvation.





	1. Discovery

Ash. It swirls around Steve, a menacing darkness in an otherwise blue sky. He tries to run but it ensnares him like tendrils sprouting from the earth, solid and powerful. He cries out, his face hitting the ground. It squeezes around his ankles, his stomach, and his throat. As it makes its way up his body, Steve whimpers, this ash is Bucky’s. Sam’s. T’Challa’s. It’s every person he couldn’t save and they’re angry. So angry. The ash pushes into his mouth and he can’t breathe. His nostrils flare open, but the ash only scrambles into there too. Eyes wide. He can’t scream for help. The Wakandan sky grows red with the blood of those he couldn’t save. It pours onto his body. The world darkens.

“NO!” Steve screams as he sits up in bed, heart pounding next to his eardrum. He looks out the window, the sky is dark, he’s alone in a painfully familiar bedroom. The Avengers compound. There’s a bedroom he populated with art, some of his own from the war (that he found on eBay), some that he bought in stores like TJ Maxx or Marshalls. Some he did recently. It’s not him anymore. The Avengers compound once was home but now it’s a foreign stranger that gets too close with a smile too dark.

Steve shouldn’t be here. But he is.

He swings his legs over the bed, running his fingers through hair that gets longer by the day. He can’t bring himself to cut it. He can run his fingers through it, tug it, bring pain to it. He squeezes his fingers around the locks until it begins to pull at his scalp. He wants to scream. So many people are dead. Daughters without fathers. Brothers without sisters. Broken families not by choice but because Thanos thought it was best for the world, no the universe. The universe gets to make its own decisions, and that was stolen from it.

Steve walks down halls that he used to feel mattered. He stops at Wanda’s room and his throat chokes up. He can see her there, sitting with her guitar and idly strumming the strings, her hair catching the light like a halo. He can see Vision behind her, a soft smile on his face. They’re both dead now. Sam’s room is sparsely decorated, mostly just filled with sports memorabilia and some free weights. He’s dead now.

Steve stops at the first room with a closed door. Rhodey. Tony was the first casualty of this mess and Rhodey suffers in silence. Just like Steve. Nat’s door is closed. Steve’s not even sure if she’s there or not.

He can’t stop the tears. They fall silently down his face and wet his beard. Bucky never had a room here. Every time. _Every time_ Steve thought he had Bucky again—he’d lose him. The train in Europe. The day on the hellicarrier. Cryo in Wakanda. Ash in a jungle. Steve grits his teeth because yelling is inappropriate at this time of night. People are sleeping. Good people who have all lost someone. They deserve to rest.

“Steve?” a rugged voice from behind says.

Steve turns to see Thor, his hair short, his face long and pained. He’s aged so much since Steve last saw him. All his people died. Not just half. _All_. Steve’s never faced the world where the heroes lost. Now he stews in it. A whole universe has lost.

“Can’t sleep,” Steve says.

“Neither can I.” Thor leans on the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His muscles bulge and veins raise. So much power behind a broken man. They’re all broken. Mangled pieces of meat and bone that thought they could prevent this. It’d just been lies. Falsities they told themselves because they couldn’t face the alternative. But they’re here now. The alternative. And none of them are okay.

“Do you—want to talk about it?” Thor asks, rose deepening his cheeks.

Steve smirks because Thor doesn’t know how to ask, but he does all the same. He shifts on his big feet, his broad body unsure, like stepping on glass afraid it may shatter. Steve’s glad Thor stayed. But then again, Steve’s not sure where Thor could go now. His home planet is destroyed. His people are all dead. This is the closest thing to home Thor has.

“Do you?” Steve tilts his head to the side.

“I need a drink.” Thor turns from the hall and heads toward the kitchen. Steve follows, watching Thor grab the whiskey and down it in a single slug. His throat pulls the liquid in, angry and bitter. Veins rise. Color flushes pale skin. But Thor doesn’t stop until the last drop is gone. He wipes his mouth, groaning. “I miss Asgard. We knew alcohol.”

Steve sits on a barstool and nods. He taps his fingers on the counter, trying to find common ground. “I miss home too sometimes. I mean—my home. My time. I woke up and everyone I knew was dead or dying. Except for Bucky.”

“And now he’s dead too.” The blunt force of Thor’s words hits Steve like a punch from Thanos. He recoils, sucking in a sharp breath.

“Yeah.” Steve wishes he could get drunk. Thor had got him there once at a party for the Avengers in the tower. But that world is gone now too. The world where the Avengers stood together. The world Thor is from. The people they all used to be. Thanos didn’t just kill half the population. He killed every person. Everyone died the moment he snapped his fingers. They all lost themselves.

Steve didn’t even have a body to mourn. Bucky had been walking toward him, his face confused and afraid. _Afraid_. Steve didn’t even catch him. Couldn’t even get there.

_“...Steve?”_

Steve wipes tears from his eyes. He doesn’t like crying, let alone crying in front of someone else. But his body won’t listen to him. It wants to be small again. It wants to wake up in a room next to a Bucky that smiles too easily. It wants the world he knew so long ago before everything got so damn complicated. His body can’t take the pain anymore. This is just too far.

“Would you—like a hug?” Thor asks, unsure of himself and too big for the room he’s in. He’s in soft clothes, a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. He’s the largest teddy bear Steve has ever seen and Steve wants to be selfish for a moment.

“Could we?” Steve wipes at his teary eyes.

Thor scoops him into the most comforting hug Steve’s ever felt. He’s small again, wrapped up in the protection of someone else’s arms. He sobs into Thor’s shoulder because he’s feeling too much. He wants to go home to a world where Bucky lives. He wants to see Tony again. He wants to turn back time. He wants to enjoy the warmth of Thor’s body and cry into his shoulder because, for the first time in _ages_ , Steve’s allowed to just cry.

So he does. He cries so hard he shakes Thor and Thor just puts his hand on the back of Steve’s head and lets him. Thor sniffles too, but his tears are lost to Steve, confronted with his own. Steve never thought he’d see a world where he lost. He never thought they could lose. They had Wakandan technology. They had each other. But it wasn’t enough. Now they have the broken pieces that Thanos didn’t bother to sweep under the rug. Broken. Every last one of them.

* * *

When Peter wakes, the first thing he realizes is he’s not actually dead. He’s covered in dust and ash. The suit Stark gave him is easy to brush off and he gives himself a final shake. He looks around, breathing hard. He’s not dead. But he’s not home. There’s a world here, that’s for sure. But it doesn’t have lush green trees or rumbling waterfalls. It’s dusty, like the ash he’d become in Stark’s arms. God, he prays Stark’s okay. They’d been on Titan and now Peter doesn’t know where he is. The giant star-thingies aren’t around him. The space doughnut (or whatever Stark called it) isn’t here. It’s a barren world with just sand upon sand upon sand.

“Mars?” Peter asks, taking a tentative step. He falls down into the sand and it’s hard to walk. His iron spider legs come out and he’s able to move without falling into the sand. He walks.

And he walks.

And he walks.

He finds no one. There’re no buildings. No plants. No animals. There’s nothing. Maybe he is dead. Is this Hell? Peter never thought he’d go to Hell. His stomach grumbles.

“Oh. Definitely not dead.” Peter looks up at the sky, a dark sea of black with white shining stars. Where _is_ he? He misses Aunt May. His eyes widen. “Aunt May! Oh—crap!”

“Hey! Spider-kid!”

“Spider-Man,” Peter says under his breath. “I’m Spider-Man.”

A man with dark skin—metal wings at his back. Sam! It’s Sam Wilson!

“I’m not alone!” Peter scrambles over to Sam. He wants to hug him but from the look of judgment on the other’s face, that’s definitely not going to happen. Peter misses Stark. He died or—something—in Stark’s arms. And Stark had held him. He’d held on so tight that Peter feels his heart swelling.

“Where the fuck are we?” Sam asks, looking around. “How are we even breathin’?”

“Well, there could be an atmosphere, I mean there’s obviously an atmosphere. But without light pollution, we see clear up into the sky. So my guess is we’re on a planet with an atmosphere similar to our own, only I don’t know where, or how, or why.” Peter squats down and looks at the sand. “I miss Karen.”

“Who?”

“Oh, the lady in my suit.”

Sam stares at him like he’s grown a third head.

“Did you turn into dust too?” Peter asks. “Felt so weird. I thought I was gonna barf.”

“Yeah. You too huh?”

Peter nods. “I don’t think Thanos killed us. I think he transported us somewhere.”

“Great.” Sam touches his suit and a tiny little rectangular drone drops off him. “Survey the area. Try to find anyone else.”

The drone chirps and zooms up into the sky.

“Oh! I had one of those! Mine was a little spider—”

“I don’t care. C’mon. We gotta figure out where we are.” Sam trudges through the sand, struggling to walk. He groans and then he’s up in the sky, his metal wings taking him higher and higher. “Holy—Peter scramble forward to the top of that rock and look about sixty degrees west.”

“Which way’s west?” Peter asks, his iron legs sprouting and moving as fast as they can. He doesn’t entirely know how he controls them, but they just—work. He’ll want to ask Stark one day. If he ever sees him again.

“Your left!”

When Peter gets to the top of the rock, his mouth drops open. People. A sea of them. People of different shapes, colors, ages, wearing different clothing—speaking different languages.

“Holy shit,” Peter whispers to himself. He wonders if Starks’ down there. He wonders if Aunt May is down there. His heart is up in his throat and it’s screaming at him to just run to them all.

“Hey!” another voice.

Peter turns and instantly recognizes the man. He’s the one that fought alongside Sam when Stark brought him to Germany. “Hey! You got a new arm!”

The guy looks to his slate gray arm and moves the fingers around. “Where the fuck are we?”

Sam drops out of the sky. “Of course I’d be stuck with you.”

The guy with the arm smirks and they share a short hug. So Sam’s just rough around the edges with everyone. Okay then, Peter thinks he can handle that. Stark said he’s an Avenger now and these guys are Avengers. They should all be friends. And they need each other now.

“I’m Peter! Peter Parker.”

“Bucky,” Cool-Arm-Guy says.

“And you’re Sam Wilson!” Peter says excitedly. “I know all the Avengers names. Well, except you,” Peter points to Bucky, “but I remember you now! You’re James Barnes! Cap’s best friend from World War Two!”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, looking at Sam like he’s either got trapped gas or he wants to already shove Peter’s head into a toilet for a swirlie. Peter’s had enough swirlies in his life from Flash.

Peter promptly shuts up.

“So are we dead?” Sam asks. “Or is this—another planet Spider-Kiddo is saying.”

“S-Spider-Man.” Peter’s iron legs come out and he raises up a few inches just dangling there, but at least he’s the same height as Sam. He’s astonished the suit even picked up on him wanting to be eye level to get some respect.

“Shit.” Bucky looks down at the people below. “Steve down there?”

“I dunno,” Sam says.

“Maybe Stark is. Oh wait!” Peter’s iron legs fold back up and he drops into the sand. “Dr. Strange! I’ll bet he’s down there! He’ll know what to do!” Peter takes off on his iron legs, scrambling down to the sea of people below them. He’s met with both elation and shrieks, but that doesn’t stop him. Each face is different from the last. Color, size, age. None Dr. Strange. He’s lost in a sea of confused people who don’t know where they are or why they’re here. Bodies shove, he hears people start arguing.

“Oh no,” Peter says. “We gotta protect them from—each other.” He tries to squeeze back out of the sea but the bodies start pushing and shoving. Screaming breaks out. People start running, knocking each other down and Peter’s doing his best to save the ones who get underfoot.

“HEY!” Sam says from high in the sky. “Listen up! We all need to work together here!”

“Peter!”

Peter doesn’t even have time to blink before he’s suddenly out of the fray of bodies and standing in front of Dr. Strange. He’s filled with elation but suppresses the urge to hug. Dr. Strange saw the future. He knows how to get out of this!

“There are 3.5 billion people on this planet. This is just a small fraction of them. There’s no food. No resources.” Dr. Strange’s brow furrows, his lip twitching. “We’ll fall into chaos soon enough.”

“No,” Peter says, stepping back. “No that—we’re all gonna die here?”

“Hey!” Dr. Strange puts his hand over Peter’s mouth. “Don’t say that too loud.” He drops his hand, brow still crinkled.

“What do we do?”

Dr. Strange sighs, looking at his hands. “All we can to give Steve Rogers enough time.”

“What?” Bucky comes up to them, his face strained. “What about Steve?”

“Who’re you?” Dr. Strange asks, looking Bucky up and down.

“He’s Cap’s best friend. Bucky Barnes,” Peter says. There’s pride in knowing who people are and Peter also likes that he’s useful to Dr. Strange, even if it’s for just a moment.

Bucky nods, face grim. “What. About. Steve?”

“He’s the only thing that can save us. Otherwise, we’ll begin to kill each other to try to survive. We can’t save billions of people on a planet made of dust.”

“No.” Peter looks at the red sand. “There’s gotta be a way.” He falls to his knees and starts digging, but the sand just keeps falling back to where it’d been. He digs and digs and digs. No one stops him. So many lives. So _many_ lives. And he can’t save them. He stops, chest heaving, lips parted. There’s dust on his face and he wipes at it roughly. It’s coarse and breaks into the surface of his skin, leaving rashes behind that quickly fade to nothing. How can there be nothing? How can someone be so cruel to condemn so many people to die this way?

“We just have to wait for Captain Rogers to figure out where we are. But people will die.”

Peter wraps his arms around his legs, sniffling. “There’s air here. It’s sustainable for life, there’s gotta be resources!”

Dr. Strange gestures around the planet. “What do you see, Peter?”

Bucky bites his lip, looking down. “How do we live then? We got maybe four days with no water. Steve supposed to figure out how to find us in four days?”

Sam lands next to them, smacking Bucky on the shoulder to get his attention. “We already got problems.”

They look out at the sea of people. There’s a tree, only it’s moving and its branches ebb and flow as it tries to keep people away from it. People are scurrying, scrambling to get to it. There’s a man with a pink body—huge muscles—Drax!

“Hey! Those’re the Guardians!” Peter points to Mantis, Drax, and Groot. Peter Quill! They’re all here! For a moment, Peter feels hope. But people are surrounding them. They’re yelling and Drax can’t keep the people away.

“We have to help them,” Dr. Strange says and then he’s off, his cape taking him to the swarm of angry people below.

Bucky lingers for a moment, Peter turns, watching. There are streaks of tears down his face. He looks up at Peter and wipes them away.

“You okay?” Peter asks. They’re on the same side now. No Captain America vs Iron Man this time.

“No,” Bucky says. It hits Peter right in his stomach. “I just wish the fate of humanity didn’t rest on my best friend’s shoulders.”

Peter nods, thinking of Ned. He wonders if Ned ever worries over Peter’s safety. If after Peter left the bus, if Ned sent a prayer to protect him. Superheroes and sidekicks. Guys in the chair. They care. Ned cares. Peter is just sorry he didn’t properly say goodbye and how thankful he is for Ned.

“My Aunt May always says God give us what only what we can handle.”

Bucky smirks, though another tear falls from his eyes. “The problem with God is—He sent his only son to die for humanity. Do you really think He won’t expect the same from Steve?” Bucky takes off, charging down into the sea of angry people.

Peter stands there, astonished at the amount of honesty from Bucky. He’s not upset that the world needs Steve. He’s upset that Steve will die trying to save it.

* * *

Steve looks in a mirror. He’s always curious about his face. Each time there’s something different. He’s so much older now. He can think back on a time where he’d look into the mirror and see a young man, hungry to prove himself, to place his mark down upon the world. The man now? The man he sees just wishes he could sleep. Dark circles. Red-rimmed eyes. A beard that’s thicker than anything he’d tried to grow back in the 30s. Steve doesn’t recognize this man. He’s angry at him. He should’ve spent his time with Bucky during his recovery. He should’ve taken the time to come back to Wakanda and _be_ there for him.

He came back when he needed Bucky to fight and what does that say about Steve? How selfish! How cruel! Bucky didn’t want to fight anymore, but he did because Steve asked of it. Bucky would—and did—give everything for Steve. And what did Steve give in return?

Death.

Steve punches the mirror. He watches it crack around his fist, blood trickling from white knuckles. The glass rains down over the ceramic sink. Each reflection taunting Steve with a man he no longer wants to be. Captain America had been where it all began. Steve chose the mantle above his own best friend. Above the man he loved more than the rest of the world. But Steve didn’t know he was alive. Steve didn’t know he’d been suffering for decades while Steve slept in ice. He found him when he could in Romania. He’d looked for three years for him. But Steve had never given up the Captain America mantle until he’d walked away from a beaten Tony. And what did he do?

He fridged his best friend, went about gallivanting through the world trying to be a hero when the only person who really needed him was Bucky. And Steve let him down. Steve has always—always—let Bucky down.

Steve picks glass out of his knuckles. He walks away from the decimated mirror and out of the bathroom. He walks halls too quiet for his taste, the lights coming on as he moves through the building.

Natasha and Rocket stand at the other end. Natasha’s face pale and somber. She looks up at Steve with glossy eyes. Rocket has his arms crossed and his head downcast. He’d lost someone too. The tree-creature, Groot.

“What, Nat?” Steve asks, voice gentle despite the anger he feels inside. He wishes he had the strength to save Bucky.

“Scott Lang isn’t dead. He’s got a partner named Hope van Dyne. Ant-Man and the Wasp. Not everyone died.”

Steve doesn’t want to tell her how much he doesn’t care right now. Because the only person that mattered did die. He nods instead, his stomach in knots. “Thanos is gone though.”

“We need to rebuild, Steve. We can’t sit here while the world mourns half its population. People don’t have bodies to bury.”

“YOU DON’T THINK I KNOW THAT?!” Steve howls, his rage uncontrolled. Face flushed, he heaves back a broken sob that he forces back down his throat. “Who do you think I lost yesterday?”

Natasha doesn’t answer. Even Rocket remains quiet.

“You’ve got—Bruce or whatever you two are. Clint’s still alive but his wife and kids aren’t. Thor just lost _everyone_ and Rocket lost his best friend! We don’t get to mourn our losses? I have to keep going when I’d rather swallow glass and just fuckin’ die?”

Natasha takes a step back, a tear slipping from her rounded eyes.

“Hey man, go easy—” Rocket tires, but Steve steps forward, closer to Natasha.

“I lost someone too. Just because you didn’t doesn’t mean we have to answer the world’s mess this time. Let it figure itself out.” Steve wipes tears from his face and storms away, leaving a speechless Natasha behind with a racoon he’s sure will say about ten thousand different expletives about him. He shouldn’t have lashed out as heatedly as he did, but that’s where he is now. Why should he keep giving himself to the world when the world has never given a damn thing back? He lost Peggy. He lost Bucky. He lost Howard. He’s lost everyone he’s ever cared for and he’s done caring for a world that doesn’t care about his suffering too.

Steve slams his door shut and screams. His throat burns, his muscles quake. He screams until his voice gives up and then he falls to his knees, squeezing and tugging at his hair. Pain is the only thing that reminds him he’s alive. It’s the only thing that he can focus on when he wants to be dead. A God-fearing man doesn’t take his own life. So Steve won’t. Because after it all, he is still a God-fearing man. And he knows Bucky would resurrect him just to kill him again.

“I miss you,” Steve whispers to the empty room. He stares up at a museum poster on the wall with a picture of him and Bucky standing close. “And I’m sorry.”

Steve curls up on the floor and clutches his knees. He doesn’t want to fight anymore. He doesn’t want to rebuild. He wants to wallow. He hasn’t gotten to wallow since the night Bucky fell from the train. Since the days he was seen as just a man by a woman he lost like he’s lost everyone. To death. Yet death doesn’t take him. All Steve wants is to die and end the nightmare his world’s become. He always rationalized he was out saving the world for Bucky. Out doing the right thing because Bucky needed time. Bucky didn’t need time. Bucky needed his friend, and Steve wasn’t there for him.

The door opens and Thor silently sits on the bed. He doesn’t look at Steve, but stares straight at the wall. He’s an immovable object in the room and Steve’s thankful that he just exists instead of anything else. Steve just needs to cry. He needs his misery. But he needs a friend too.

Thor, in a way, has become someone close to Steve. Sam is Steve’s best friend. Bucky is family—was family. Thor though, Thor has always been a welcomed sight. A person Steve has come to cherish and respect. They’re both men who have nothing left but each other.

Steve wipes his eyes and sits up. He leans against the door to make sure no one else comes into the room. It’s not that he doesn’t love Nat. He does. But her version of mourning is bucking it up and moving on. It’s the next mission. The next step. Steve just can’t do that right now. He needs to stop and be a human again. It’s been so long since he could just _be_.

Steve crawls over to Thor and sits next to his leg. Together, they stare at the wall.

“I watched Thanos suffocate Loki. Loki tried to save me and I couldn’t do anything but watch his eyes grow redder and redder.”

Steve just listens.

“I’ve loved my brother. I still love him. He’s an idiot and I spent most of my life believing he didn’t love anyone above himself. But at the end, he chose me.”

Steve closes his eyes.

“And I couldn’t do anything but watch.” Thor chuckles, it’s a startling sound in the darkening room. “I thought he was dead once before. I mourned him then. But I didn’t trust him as much as I came to trust him now. I keep thinking it’s just a trick saying ‘Loki wouldn’t truly sacrifice himself!’ But it’s not a trick. It’s a nightmare that I’ll live until I die. And we live a long fucking time.”

Steve leans his head against Thor’s thigh. He doesn’t know words to take Thor’s pain away but he knows a small bit of contact can go a long way. That hug they’d shared last night meant the world to Steve. He hopes this helps Thor too.

Silence falls between them. The air filter humming in the background. They’re in each other’s nightmare and nothing they can do will get them out of this. They lost. It wasn’t enough. Tired soldiers in a war who forgot what they were fighting for, only to remember when it was too late. Steve had taken some of Bucky’s ashes and they reside in a drawer. It’s all he has left of him. An entire life. An entire person. Gone. Nothing but ash.

“I watched Bucky die too,” Steve says after he can’t take the silence anymore. “I watched him fall and there was nothing I could do about it. Then I watched him turn into ash and there was nothing I could do about it. I failed him twice because I put my own desires ahead of his. Bucky didn’t wanna go back to war. He’d been injured. Captive. He could’ve gotten out and gone home but I asked him to fight and he did. After Shuri got the codes out of his head, he could’ve gotten out again. I should’ve let him. Should’ve learned. But I asked him to fight and he did again because it was me who asked.”

Thor brushes his fingers through Steve’s hair and it’s so intimate that Steve gasps, shivering. He pushes himself closer, pleading in his mind for Thor not to stop. He doesn’t know if Sharon is dead or alive. He’s also sure that relationship isn’t even going to work. It shouldn’t work. Because the person Steve has always loved, even before Peggy, was Bucky. But it feels so good to know someone’s there. To feel their fingers on his skin, tracing down his neck and up into his hair. It’s aimless, it’s purely for comfort, but _God_ is Steve ever touch-starved. The only touches he gets are punches, kicks and claws. To feel this now, he’s melting.

“What do we do now?” Thor asks, his fingers still trailing up and down Steve’s scalp. “How do we keep going when everything we know is gone?”

“I don’t know,” Steve says.

* * *

“God damn it!” Tony sucks on his finger. He’s put the wrong wires together for the _last_ time, he swears. He’ll rot away on this barren wasteland if he doesn’t find a way to get the doughnut back up and running. He doesn’t need the whole thing, just the parts that make it go. He’s built most of it back up, a mini doughnut. God, he wants doughnuts. He’s starving.

“Friday, can you highlight the paths that were the wrong wire combos? Run some diagnostics on which won’t evaporate my skin off.”

“On it, boss,” Friday’s disembodied voice says.

Tony sees pathways and currents, lit up like Christmas. He looks over each pathway. He’s made enough mistakes that the probability that he gets one of these right is fairly high. He takes a few of the wires and starts soldering them together, the spacecraft starting to hum.

“Bingo bango bongo.” Tony sits back and watches lights begin to blink and chatter to each other. There’s a current beneath Tony’s feet and he’s fairly certain this time he’s got the damn engine going. “Now just to get her off Titan.”

“We don’t know how its energy source replenishes. What if you run out of power in space?”

“Then I run out of power in space.” Tony goes over to where Ebony Maw piloted the ship. It was easy for a guy who could control things with his mind, but Tony’s no telekinetic. He sighs, looking between the appendages.

“Friday, is there a way we could connect the steering together?” He looks around the ship, seeing where Friday’s already beginning to highlight and guide. “Oh neat!” Tony flies up to where Friday’s highlighted and begins to smelt the metals and joints together. He tests out the new rig by pushing one of the appendages, watching as the other does the opposite. “Looks like I’ll be home for dinner.”

He gets the ship off the ground, hovering with some effort. It doesn’t have much in terms of life left but Tony’s just praying it’ll at least have one journey left. He has to get back to figure out what happened. His heart squeezes, thinking of Peter in his arms.

_“I don’t wanna go! I don’t wanna go!”_

Tony grits his teeth, anger bubbling beneath the skin. Peter was a good kid and he wasn’t even supposed to _be_ here, but that wouldn’t change the outcome. Peter died. He would’ve died no matter where he was. Quill died. Mantis. Drax. Gamora. Tony just hopes when he gets back to Earth someone is left.

He hopes Pepper is still standing.

* * *

“Steve?” Bruce pokes his head into Steve’s room. Thor hasn’t left. They’re lying on the bed together, both staring up at the ceiling, lost in their own thoughts, arms crossed and muscles aching. Neither slept.

Steve’s gaze trails over to Bruce. His throat hurts from screaming so he just waits.

“You need to see something. It’s about Bucky and the others.”

Something shoots inside Steve, it’s hot and explodes beneath the skin. It touches every part of him, revives his heart, moves his muscles. He swings off the bed and Bruce scrambles behind Steve, calling out, “The lab!” Steve doesn’t wait, his mind pinpointed onto one thing and one thing only. Bucky.

“I’ve been replaying the Hulkbuster’s footage. I’ve slowed it down and I think you need to see this.” Bruce goes over to one of the screens in the lab.

Natasha stands in a corner, she doesn’t speak. Steve doesn’t hold that against her. The last time she’d spoken to Steve, he’d yelled in her face. But he can’t bring himself to apologize. He’s not sorry for expressing how he feels. He’s sorry for the way he’d expressed it, but he’s not sorry he said it. So he doesn’t apologize. Like everything, he internalizes it, pushing it down until it’s nothing but another black sludge on the pile inside Steve’s stomach.

Rhodey’s by the door, his eyes red and face tired. Steve guesses he’s not been sleeping much either. Rocket is slumped in a chair. He has no one he knows here. He doesn’t even know if his friends are alive or dead.

Bruce plays the footage of Bucky dying. Steve watches in great detail as Bucky’s face morphs from blank to strained and fearful. Steve balls his fists until he feels nails press into skin. He watches himself trying to move to Bucky, watches the way Bucky’s lips morph out the last thing he’d ever said: Steve’s own name. There’s a flash of green that spirals out of Bucky’s center as he falls. It goes straight up into the air and then out of frame.

“Play it back from that,” Steve says. He knows Bruce understands what he’s asking.

Bruce rewinds it to where the green aura shoots out from Bucky’s core.

“Is that a soul?” Rhodey asks.

“The ash isn’t parts of the body. Watch how it forms,” Bruce says. He plays back the entire thing again. The way the ash moves, it begins when the green aura starts to slip out of Bucky’s head. As it moves, ash cascades off it. It moves so quickly that it gives the illusion of a body turning to ash.

“I don’t think Bucky and the others turned to ash. I think they were turned into the auras and the ash was just the particles in the air melting together to form what looked to be their bodies. Something—transported out of them or—something.”

“So you’re saying they could’ve been taken somewhere?” Steve asks, hope reviving his battered heart. He doesn’t care where they are. He doesn’t care if Bruce isn’t even entirely sure. If there’s even an ounce of belief that Bucky’s still alive, Steve will tear down the fabric of the universe to find him. This time—it’ll be for keeps.

“Yo, if Groot’s still alive, I say we go get them!” Rocket stands on the chair and he’s still not as tall as Steve.

“It’s a possibility. But one step at a time, Rocket.” Bruce looks down at the computer keyboard. “I can try to math the trajectory of the aura and see which direction it went.” Bruce begins typing away at his computer, his fingers moving with minds of their own. Bruce’s face is blank, eyes barely even moving. He looks back up at the screen and everyone in the room watches the way the aura moved from Bucky’s body.

“It—vanishes,” Rhodey says. “Are we sure we didn’t just see a soul leave a body? Or maybe it’s just how the Infinity Stones work altogether?”

“I’ll run some simulations to be sure,” Bruce says, “just hang tight Cap. I don’t know if I found something or nothing at all. But just hang tight, okay? You too Rocket.”

Steve nods, his heart beating so hard in his chest he feels he my bruise it. He leaves the room, unable to continue watching Bucky die over and over. Or be transported. Or whatever’s happening. If that was a soul, at least it went to Heaven. They always said Heaven was up.

* * *

“We’re all gonna die,” Peter Quill says. “I’m so thirsty.”

Bucky finishes shoving a rock into place, making the last structure for the people they’re trying to protect from each other. Everyone’s calmed down since last night with the explanation of what the Guardians are, but that doesn’t stop the time clock on all their bodies. Bucky’s thirsty too. During the day, the planet is hot. The sun beats down on them from above and there’d been nothing to shelter the people from it. There’d been burns on faces, steam from skin.

The Avengers and the Guardians had worked together to build what little structures they could, but it wouldn’t fit everyone. They have to rotate. Children always taking priority to squeeze in where adults can’t.

“We need to find water,” Peter Parker says. Bucky’s about done with having two Peters, both equally annoying. At least the kid has an excuse—he’s a _kid_.

“There is no water,” Strange says.

“This planet isn’t just made of sand! We found water on Mars. There’s gotta be something here!” Peter takes off and the tree-guy—Groot follows him. Drax and Mantis both behind them.

“I can help dig!” Drax says.

“They’re idiots,” Strange says. “We should be preserving strength not wasting it.”

“Well if they find water, I’m not complinin’,” Bucky says. “I’m sweating and thirsty.”

“Could drink blood,” Quill says.

“We’re not killing people!” Sam exclaims.

“Woah! I’m not suggesting we kill each other, Rambo! We can share blood!”

“That’s how diseases form man, what the fuck? How’re you so stupid?” Sam whirls away, stomping in the sand. He groans, dropping to his knees.

Bucky knows how he feels. There’re so many more people on this planet but this is just their little corner of it. He can’t imagine the perils everyone is in right now. Are they better off so far? How many people have died from the sun? Who’s started eating each other? Blood-drinking? Will they resort to that? Who will they choose to die first? Bucky’s seen war. He’s seen men blown to pieces but he’s never seen people eat each other. He doesn’t want to.

But he’s not sure what choice he has right now. Live and pray Steve saves them, or die, and be nothing but corpses when Steve finally finds them. Bucky wishes he had a piece of paper and something to write with. Hell, he’d even use his own blood since Quill’s already talking about using it. If he dies, he wants to leave a note behind for Steve. One begging Steve to keep going. To thank him for being the best friend a guy could have ever asked for. For being the lover Bucky never had, but was proud to be with just how they were. It’s stupid, really. But Bucky’s loved Steve since the moment he met him. It was always mixed up in other feelings. Brotherly. Family. Close friend. But Bucky had imagined kissing Steve once. And he’d liked the idea. He’d imagined coming home to a skinny little Steve wearing an apron and kissing his face. He’d imagined big broad shoulders holding him at night to chase the nightmares away. He’d imagined a whole life with Steve, but he’d never said a single word about it. He’s not sure if having a pen and paper would make him confess it anyway. Steve doesn’t need to know. It’s not fair to him to thrust those feelings on Steve when it’s clear Steve’s never felt the same.

It’s not like they never had opportunities. They’d seen each other naked. They’d spent nights in foxholes together. There’d been a moment. That moment where Steve saved Bucky from getting blown up in Europe. They’d looked to each other’s lips and for a moment, Bucky had thought they might kiss.

But Bucky had been dragged to his feet. And when he tried to flirt with Steve in the bar before Peggy showed up, it all went right over Steve’s head. Then Peggy stepped into the room and Steve had no eyes for anyone but her. But that was okay. If Bucky didn’t get to love Steve, he wanted someone to. Steve’s so deserving of love and it burns in Bucky’s heart that Steve never got to truly have it.

Bucky thought maybe Sharon? But even that seemed to die. The world always asking more and more of Steve. It took its pound of flesh and then put out its other hand to take more. Bucky just wants Steve to be loved. He doesn’t care who it is. He just wants someone to love Steve the way Bucky never got to.

“Bucky?” Sam’s before him, his head ducked in close in case Bucky falls or does something stupid. “You good, man?”

“Weak,” is all Bucky says. He doesn’t want to tell Sam the truth. There’s a part of Bucky that still isn’t comfortable with knowing he loves Steve. The world has changed so much but Bucky never got to change along with it. Men can marry men. Women can marry women. But Bucky’s still not comfortable with the man he is—with what he wants. Especially if Steve doesn’t feel the same way.

“Yeah. We’re gonna fall hard and fast if we don’t get water or food soon.” Sam pats Bucky on the shoulder and helps him sit. Sam turns to look up at Strange. “What’ll happen, you think? These people are hungry already. Thirst is killing us.”

“We’ll have an open rebellion soon,” Strange says like he’s reciting the weather, “we won’t be able to stop them. We shouldn’t stop them. Dead bodies mean resources. We could try to cook them but our fire-starting resources are limited. Our time is limited as it is but in the event Rogers does save us, some of us will have diseases from eating the deceased.”

“Jesus.” Sam grabs his stomach and winces. “I don’t want this.”

“Well this is what we have.”

“Guys!” a peppy voice shouts. Bucky recognizes it instantly as Parker’s. He looks over to Peter. His head is either covered with sweat or—Bucky stands up, eyes wide.

“We found water! There’s water!”

“Oh my God,” Strange says.

“Fuck yes!” Sam pumps his hands into the air and claps.

“C’mon! C’mon!” Peter scampers back on his iron spider legs, whooping and hollering about how they’ve found water.

Bucky allows the moment to replace his thoughts. He misses Steve terribly, but the people here need to survive. They have to be the ones to help them. Hope inflates inside Bucky, it starts at the base of his stomach and races up into his lungs. He shouts out in glee, running down a sand dune. Small victories were always celebrated in the war because that’s how moral stayed up. He wants that for these people. He’ll toast to Steve as he drinks water and prays there’s no flesh-eating insects in it or something.

* * *

Steve spars with Thor because he doesn’t want to think about Bucky anymore. He doesn’t want to think about the new data that Bruce collects each and every time his magic fingers find yet again another reason for the aura that slips from Bucky’s body. He doesn’t want to hear Bucky’s voice saying over and over, “…Steve?”

Steve lands a dirty kick to Thor’s stomach and Thor collapses into the wall. He grunts, smirking. “Nice.”

Steve nods because he can’t find the strength to match his smirk. There’s nothing snarky or alive in Steve’s body.

Thor comes at Steve like a powerhouse should. It takes all of Steve’s concentration to deflect punches, to twist from kicks. Eventually, Thor lands an uppercut and it sends Steve flying back. He hits the wall and a flash of white erupts before his eyes.

“Steve!” Thor races over, his hands on Steve’s torso. “I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Steve grunts out. He leans forward, his head spinning. “How am I still alive after that?”

Thor laughs, patting Steve’s chest. Steve wants to reach up and grab his hand. It’s not that Steve—feels—something for Thor. Sure, he cares but Thor is no Bucky. But Thor’s always been free with touch. He hugs openly, laughs loudly. He’s expressive in a way that is infectious and Steve needs that side of Thor now more than ever. So he does grab Thor’s hand. He keeps it pressed to his bare chest and they look at each other.

“I don’t think you want that,” Thor says, brow creased.

Steve leans up and doesn’t let go of Thor’s hand. Thor doesn’t pull away either. They sit together, shoulder to shoulder, Steve’s hand covering Thor’s. “It’s not about what I want right now.”

Thor grunts out an affirmation. “I’ve always thought that humans were strange in their sexualities. Don’t get me wrong, I love women. But we live so long that we know one person cannot fully give us all there is to understand about love.”

“So you’ve been with men?” Steve asks. Because he hasn’t. There was only one man Steve ever wanted to be with, and now he’s unsure if he’ll ever see that man again. Whether it be in life or in death.

“I’ve been with all sorts of genders and species.”

Steve scoots closer, the pain in his head still blossoming at the back of his skull. He rests his head against Thor’s shoulder. He just wants to be close to someone. It’s—selfish. But Steve’s beginning to notice a trend in his life. All his selfless acts have always been selfish acts for himself. Now he’s selfish here. He just wants someone to erase his loss, to be human, if only for a moment.

Thor turns his head and presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead. It’s a brief ghosting of lips but it feels so good that Steve’s breath hiccups. He squeezes Thor’s hand tighter. It’s primal and a base need, but Steve needs this. But he can only have it if he lets Thor understand what it is. Otherwise, it’s not fair to leave Thor guessing.

“We both have no one,” Steve says, “and I just need a someone. I don’t know what for. But I just need a someone.”

“Just for now?” Thor asks.

“Just for now.” Steve looks up at Thor’s lips. He’s upset his first kiss with a man isn’t with Bucky, but this is the lesson learned. Steve doesn’t get to share that kiss with Bucky because he doesn’t deserve it. A man who stayed by his best friend’s side—that man would’ve deserved it. Except Steve had left Bucky in Wakanda. So what Steve wants and what he gets do not get to be the same thing.

He presses his lips to Thor’s and the feeling of soft bristles against his lips shoots pleasure down into his dick. He moans, twisting his body so he can get between Thor’s legs and press their bodies close. Thor lets him, his big arms wrapping around Steve’s waist. Their kiss is hungry; needy tongues pressing and teasing each other. Chests heaving and nipples tracing against heated skin.

Steve shivers, his cock hard and pressing into Thor. Thor’s cock pressing into him. They explore each other, hands running over skin, mapping out the curves and dips of each other’s bodies.

Thor’s hands slip into Steve’s pants and squeeze at his ass. Steve just jerks his hips forward and lets his cock push up and down against Thor’s body. He doesn’t want fabric to be between them but he doesn’t know how to express that. He doesn’t know how to do any of this with another man. He just knows he needs it. He needs to remember there is _someone_ there. That he’s not just spiraling through the universe on a rock with no one but himself. He’s not in a glass box left to die. He’s alive and Thor is alive. They’re together and they need each other for their own reasons. A reminder. A body. A person to talk to. A person to kiss because they’re so lonely they could rip themselves to shreds.

Steve comes, a shudder through his body, a gasp at his lips. Thor’s hands move around to Steve’s trembling thighs and he wraps a hand around Steve’s seizing cock.

“That’s it,” Thor whispers between kisses. “That’s it.”

Steve collapses atop Thor, his face pushed into the crook of Thor’s neck. He’s breathing rough, his orgasm not enough to make him forget how much he misses Bucky. Guilt hits him hard. It stings and permeates his body. He’s using Thor. Steve’s not sure if he could love anyone anymore, not even a man as decent as Thor.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers. “We shouldn’t. I’m—I’m sorry.” Steve pulls away, trying to hide the wet spot in his gym shorts. He runs from the training room, even angrier at himself that he didn’t help Thor come too.

In a cold shower, Steve lets tears slip from his eyes as he stares at the tiled walls. He’s got a hand up to balance himself lest he falls. His first kiss should’ve been with Bucky. His first time should’ve been with Bucky. His first _everything_ should’ve been with Bucky. But it never was. Every smile he flashed Bucky’s way never got past just being friends. Every bump of his hip, every brief touch of the arm, the batting of his lashes. It’d all been interpreted as teasing—friendly—boys being boys. But it wasn’t! Steve was begging for Bucky to love him, practically screaming at Bucky to do it and he _never_ did.

And then Peggy came around and it felt so good to have someone look at him the way Bucky never would. Steve did love Peggy. He would’ve been happy with Peggy because Peggy wasn’t Bucky. There was nothing to compare the two. Peggy loved Steve and would’ve loved him for all of Steve’s life but he never gave her the chance. After Bucky died, Steve wanted to die too.

“Steve?”

Steve gasps, startled. He looks at the shower curtain and sees Thor’s outline. “I’m sorry,” Steve says again.

“I’m not here to yell at you.” Thor gets into the shower and Steve presses back against the tile, surprised. “I’m not here to be anything more than what you need me to be. I’m not ready to love anyone. But we both need someone. I need a someone too.”

Thor presses his body close and cups the back of Steve’s head with his big hand.

Steve melts into the embrace, using it for whatever he needs it to be, because Thor is letting him. This isn’t a love story. This doesn’t have an end where they run off into the sunset together. They’re suffering and need someone in their misery. Thor is using Steve as much as Steve is using Thor.

“So just for now? Until we can find Bucky and the others?” Steve asks, pulling back in Thor’s arms to look at Thor’s gentle eyes.

“Of course.”

Steve rises up on his tip-toes to kiss Thor, an act he hasn’t had to do in decades but it feels so good to do it now. He’s small again, pressing his body into a larger one that welcomes him, warm and solid. He imagines it’s Bucky. That they’re back in Brooklyn and a record is crackling in the corner of the room. He imagines the shrill honks of cars below and the bustle of the streets. It’s cast in warm yellow light and Bucky’s eyes reflect Steve back, skinny, small, and young.

“Hey sugar,” Bucky says, cupping Steve’s face. “You wanna dance?”

Steve nods like a bobblehead because he can’t find the words to say back.

Bucky picks him up and they dance around the room, Steve’s feet on Bucky’s toes. Bucky twirls and twirls, the room with its yellow light and sepia tones blurring. The walls are bare, nails hang for pictures that Steve can’t afford. Bucky presses his lips to Steve’s and Steve mewls into it, his body desperate for all of Bucky, to feel his skin, his warmth, his heart.

“Easy cupcake!” Bucky laughs, twirling Steve before pulling him back in, his hands at the small of Steve’s back. “We got all our lives.”

“I thought I lost you. I thought—that we—”

“Shh,” Bucky puts his finger to Steve’s lips and Steve kisses it, “we got all the time in the world.”

“I love you,” Steve says. “I’ve always loved you.”

Bucky’s hair grows long, his eyes dark and haunted. He stares at Steve and the record ceases to play. “Then why did you leave me?”

He filters into the air, nothing but ash behind in his wake.

Steve opens his eyes to find himself naked in Thor’s arms. They’re huddled together on the shower floor, Thor’s fingers tracing between Steve’s shoulder blades. Steve’s face is wet, and he’s not sure if it’s from the shower or from his tears. He licks at one and tastes salt.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. He’s a broken record. It’s the only thing he says now. Sorry I wasn’t there. Sorry I’m using you. Sorry I hurt you. Sorry I left you. Sorry I wasn’t better. Sorry. Sorry.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Thor says, stroking tears from Steve’s cheeks. “You loved him.”

“Love him,” Steve corrects. He’s not willing to give up yet. If Bruce thinks there’s a chance they’re alive, Steve wants to believe it. He’s not ready to let Bucky go. “I love him.” Steve looks up at Thor’s eyes, searching for answers that Thor cannot give. Bucky is missing, presumably dead. Steve watched him fall to ashes. But that aura, that shooting aura—Steve doesn’t know. He’s not sure.

Thor smiles. He wraps his arms around Steve’s body and together they rest beneath the warm shower spray. “Can you feel him?”

“What?”

“In your heart of hearts, can you feel him? Do you believe he’s alive?”

Steve thinks it’s the stupidest question Thor has ever asked. But Steve still dwells on it. He closes his eyes, he thinks of Bucky—not the Bucky he once had but the one he should have today. Bucky with his beautiful shaggy hair, his tired smile, his bright eyes that have seen so much darkness. He thinks of Bucky taking up another arm to fight in another war because Steve asked him to. He thinks of _that_ Bucky. And he falls in love all over again. His heart shivers, his mind squeezes. He’s floating, floating so high that the world is nothing but a bright dot beneath him and then it’s faded away.

He floats in blackness, sees a red planet and opens his eyes.

“Bucky’s alive, and he needs us.” Steve stands up, offering a hand down to Thor.

Thor grasps it and together they get out of the shower, dry and dress.

They move quickly down the halls of the Avengers compound. This isn’t home. Home hasn’t been a place in a long time. Home is Bucky Barnes. Home is apologizing for all the times he should’ve stayed. Home is a man with brown hair and gray eyes. Home needs him.

“Steve?” Bruce says as he types away on one of the computers. “I was just about to get you.”

Steve waits, his fingers tingling. He looks between Nat and Bruce. Nat’s seated over scribbles on a piece of paper with numbers and equations Steve doesn’t understand. Bruce looks pale and like he’ll throw up at any moment.

“I think we’ve figured out where the others are,” Bruce says, “but I need to be sure.”

“Where?” Steve asks, stepping forward. Anywhere. Everywhere. He’ll go. If there’s a chance, he’ll go.

“We need to go to Wakanda. I need to verify with their scientists if my calculations are right. I need Shuri.”

“Okay,” Steve says, “then we go. I’m not letting them waste away out there if we can find them. We’ll leave now.”

Bruce and Nat both nod. Bruce exits the room, Nat lingers, her mouth twitching like she means to speak but she keeps recoiling at the last moment.

“Nat.” Steve needs to be the one that does this. He doesn’t want them on bad terms. Nat’s one of his closest friends and he can’t have there be anything between them. The air has cleared and now it’s time to circle back and regroup. They need each other now. The Avengers are a small shamble of what they used to be. Tony. Sam. Wanda. All the others who died or went missing because of Thanos. No, Steve can’t have anything left to chance.

Natasha stands before Steve, her hands folded behind her back. She looks up, waiting.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” Steve says. He feels lighter instantly, a rock on his chest lifted. He can smell the electricity in the room now, its sweet scent tingling about them with science and wonder. “I was just—”

“I know.” Natasha cups Steve’s beard and gives it a few scratches. Steve leans into it, smiling. “It’s okay papa bear. We just lost a lot of people and we’re all hurting. You need time.”

“If they’re alive though. We can’t wait.”

“I know that too.” Natasha pulls her hand back and looks down at the scribbled equations that she’d written down. “Bruce isn’t sure yet but what he’s found—we’re pretty sure Thanos didn’t think this would happen.”

“What?”

“He didn’t kill them. He transported them. To where, is the question, but Bruce is pretty sure he knows the answer. He just needs to verify it with a second pair of eyes and then we’re off to the races.” Natasha quirks a brow. “But I’m curious what this means for us.”

“What what means?” Steve asks.

Natasha puts her pointer finger over Steve’s lips and winks. “Soon.”

* * *

Steve doesn’t know what to pack. He’s not even sure how long they’ll be gone or what they’re supposed to be bringing. Thor’s sitting on the bed, watching Steve stare at Kevlar and his torn up uniform.

“Should we tell them?” Thor asks. “I mean—it’s casual but, what if you need me and we’re around them?”

“Then I’ll wait until we’re alone,” Steve says, not taking his eyes off the uniform in his hands. He decides if he needs anything, it’s at least the uniform. He shrugs out of his hoodie and sweats to begin dressing.

“But what if I need you and we’re not alone?” Thor asks.

“You really gonna shove your hands into my pants when Bruce is around?” Steve smirks, and it feels so good. It breathes life back into his aching body. He moves without muscle pain, breathes without glass in his chest.

“What? No! I mean like—touching. Rubbing shoulders, hugging, touching faces. Gods, why would I do anything like that in front of _Banner_?!” And then Thor is smiling too.

Steve’s pretty certain he has an Asgardian prince as a booty call now. Or are they friends with benefits? Steve likes that one better. Booty call sounds so much more distant. Steve needs their friendship just as much as he needs Thor’s hands on his body. They both know where this ends. Even if Bucky doesn’t want Steve, this will still end. Steve’s just immensely grateful that Thor can and will go down this route with him.  He wants to be there for Thor too, to give him what he needs when he needs it. This isn’t just for Steve. There are two mourning hearts in this situation and Steve has every intention of helping Thor through whatever he needs to work through. Just like Thor is willing to work through it all with Steve.

“If you need me, just touch me,” Steve says. “If they ask questions, we’ll tell them. I don’t see any reason why we’d need to hide.”

“I don’t either,” Thor says. “I’m glad we see eye to eye..”

Steve smiles. Each time he does, he’s startled by how easy it is. The last person he’d smiled at was Bucky and part of him wanted to keep it like that, but it’s so hard not to smile when Thor is there. Steve’s sure Bucky wouldn’t mind. If Bucky’s alive, they’re coming for him. If he’s not, well, now he knows Steve better than Steve knows himself. Steve doesn’t have to explain why he needs to smile with Thor. Bucky would already know.

“So you’re sure this is okay? What we’re doing?” Steve asks. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

Thor stands up and makes his way across the room. He pushes Steve against the wall and Steve lets his muscles relax as Thor presses his lips to Steve’s, passionately and rough. Their beards scratch together and it sends pleasant whispers to both their ears. “I’m using you as much as you’re using me.” Thor winks.

Breathless, Steve smiles, it’s small and hesitant. He’s not ready for bright, wide smiles, but small ones are good. Small, shy smiles, just for Thor. Butterflies tickle inside Steve and they’re enough to make him wrap his arms around Thor and bring their mouths together again.

Kissing Thor, Steve replaces blond hair with brown. He replaces soft flesh hands with one of metal. He thinks of Bucky’s scent and realizes he can’t remember it. Panicked, he makes a new one. If Bucky had a scent, it’d be gunmetal and oil. Rough and brash, dangerous and debonair. It wouldn’t be the sandalwood of Thor’s skin. Steve cherishes his made up scent for Bucky. He slips his tongue into Thor’s mouth and presses their bodies together.

“Steve!” Bucky laughs out, his hands grabbing at Steve’s hips but making a pretend show that he doesn’t want this just as much as Steve does. “Here? Now?”

Steve looks around them. They’re in the KGB bunker in Siberia. The other Winter Soldiers are dead around them. Tony is nowhere to be found.

“Yes.” Steve kisses Bucky’s lips, reverent and tender, worshiping. “Here and now, Buck.”

Bucky smirks and grabs Steve’s hands. “Squeeze my ass. Always wanted to know what it’d feel like with your big hands.”

Steve purrs, rubbing their crotches together. He does what Bucky wants, resigned to give Bucky anything. His heart. His lungs. His life. Anything. “I love you,” Steve says. “I love you. I love you.” Kiss after kiss, soft giggle after giggle. Their kisses echo in the large room. The shuffle of their clothes getting louder and louder. Steve’s cock is so hard he could explode from it.

“Lemme touch you,” Steve says.

Bucky takes a step back, his face blank. “I’m not here, Steve.”

Once again, he explodes into ash.

Steve pulls away from Thor, wiping tears he wishes he could control. He hates that he does this. He goes away and doesn’t know he has until it’s far too late. It’s not fair to Thor. God, he prays he doesn’t call Thor by Bucky’s name.

Thor steps back and points to the Kevlar armor. “I think you should bring that. Don’t know where we’re going.”

“Yeah. Do I—do you know I leave you, when we kiss?”

Thor nods.

“I’ll try not to next time.”

Thor kisses Steve’s forehead and pats him on the back. “You owe me nothing, Steve.”

“And you owe me nothing too.” Steve looks up, biting his lip.

Thor smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m going to find Rabbit.”

“Rocket.”

“Right.” Thor shrugs. “Creature of habit.” He points to himself before walking out of the room, taking all the warmth and life with him.

Steve wishes he had something of Bucky’s to hold. He looks over his shoulder at the dresser where a baggie of Bucky’s ashes rests. He pulls open the drawer and stares down at the blackened pieces. “I’m so sorry I failed you.” He picks them up and clutches them to his chest. He rocks from side to side, imagining a world where they danced together, a war with a happy ending. Whispers of love and adoration between bedsheets. Nose brushing, toe touching. Nibble kisses on each other’s ears because they love each other so much they could just eat each other up.

Steve sits on the bed and sobs. No one’s here to know. No one’s here to see. He sobs brokenly, loudly, unabashedly. He lets out all the sadness he has and then he composes himself. Bucky could very well be alive somewhere.

He needs to find him.

* * *

Wakanda mourns the death of their King. All flags are at half-mast. The heart of the city is quiet, its people inside and doing their best to heal from the battle and the losses of so many Wakandan people. Thanos didn’t just take their king, he took half their people too. Wakanda lost scientists, historians, doctors, lawyers, teachers, friends and family. They lost half their hearts, and they are not a people who hold in their feelings.

People cry silently in corners of hallways. Men sniffle on their ways to the grocery. The sadness that permeates the air hits Steve so hard he chokes up. He respected T’Challa. He’d been there for Bucky when Steve couldn’t and hopefully, wherever they are, they’re together again too.  

Shuri’s lab has too many gadgets and moving parts that Steve feels almost overstimulated. He presses his back into Thor and Thor stands still, his hands on Steve’s lower back, just a gentle weight. If people notice, so be it. Steve feels no shame in needing Thor this way. Everyone deals with loss and grief their own ways. This is how Steve deals with his. The only opinions that should matter are his and Thor’s alone.

Shuri buzzes around the lab like a bee in a hive. She adjusts computers, types equations into machines and watches the numbers populate on screens.

“How’s it been here?” Steve asks. He knows the answer isn’t good. He doesn’t know why he asks, out of respect and being polite, he thinks.

“Wakandans are strong people. M’Baku will be our next Black Panther. Though we’ve lost our traditional flower for the ceremony.”

“There’s a chance T’Challa’s not dead,” Natasha says, her arms crossed. “What happens if we find him and M’Baku is king?”

“M’Baku will step aside. No one has more respect for the Black Panther then M’Baku.”

Steve nods. T’Challa inspired not just his homeland but the world around him. He’d come out swinging since the Accords and the world has learned of Wakanda’s many benefits, though on Wakandan terms. They’ve stepped into the world their way and the world respects them for it. Or fears them. Everyone is scrambling to be friends with the most technologically advanced people in the world.

Shuri takes a deep breath and watches the screens, her tongue tracing back and forth on her top lip. She looks back at Bruce and then up at her screens again. “It could—”

“Another dimension.” Bruce steps closer and puts his glasses on. “Holy cow.”

“T’Challa could be—alive?” Shuri sits down, her lithe shoulders slumping. She stares at her hands, mouth ajar. “I can’t believe it.”

Steve gasps, thankful for Thor behind him to keep him steady. Bucky is alive. Thanos hadn’t killed them. Steve opens his mouth to speak but one of Shuri’s computers begins beeping loudly. Shuri runs over to the computer and types the same way Bruce does.

“Unidentified spacecraft entering our atmo.” Shuri looks over her shoulder at them. “Thanos?”

“No,” Steve whispers. “He can’t know about this!” Steve has one last chance at getting Bucky back. One. Final. Chance. He isn’t about to let Thanos find out he’d made a mistake when he snapped his big sausage fingers. Steve will cut each finger off if it means making sure Thanos would never do that again. Even if it costs Steve his life. He’ll make sure Bucky gets to live.

“It’s one of his ships!” Shuri exclaims, locking her satellites onto the ship. It looks a little worse for wear. Parts of it are missing and all of it is on fire as it beats down into Earth’s atmosphere. They expect it to slow to land but it just keeps coming.

“Where is that?!” Natasha runs forward, her eyes wide.

“It’s gonna hit people!” Bruce looks to Shuri, panic in his eyes much like Natasha’s. “We have to do something!”

“There’s nothing we can do. I could shoot it but I don’t think that’ll fix the problem!”

“Tractor beam? Anything?”

“I don’t have a tractor beam we’re not spacefaring people!”

“You may as well be spacefaring people!” Bruce yells back, face flushing.

“Enough!” Thor booms, his face grim. “It’s going to hit. There’s no use squabbling with each other.”

They watch it hit the earth, the ground giving way and exploding around the circular spaceship like ocean waves. Horrified, they all stand with bated breath, watching it move closer and closer to where people live. Not a city. Not a tiny town. Just suburban America.

“We can’t let them get what they came for,” Natasha says. “Clint’s somewhere out there. He can meet us. Do you have a jet?” Natasha looks to Shuri.

“Do I have a jet?” Shuri retorts, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. “Only the best and fastest the world has ever seen.”

“We need to borrow it,” Rocket says, peeking his head from around Natasha’s leg. “Ya got anything else interesting you’re willing to part with? What about this thing?”

“Don’t touch that!”

* * *

When they get there, they don’t expect to see a bleeding Tony stark crawl out of the ruined spaceship. He looks up at Steve, his mouth red and bloody. Purple around the side of his face. Steve isn’t so sure his wounds were all from the crash.

“Tony!” Bruce is the first one to run out. He drops to his knees beside Tony and starts looking him over. “Jesus, are you okay?”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Bruce, I’m not Jesus. And I’m fine.” Tony groans, grabbing his stomach. “Just a little flesh wound.”

Shuri comes over and starts helping clean him up.

Steve stays back. He hasn’t seen Tony since he’d left him in Siberia. Tony had been willing to hear Steve out. He’d been willing to defy Ross and then Zemo had to show him the clip where the Winter Soldier killed his parents. Tony had a right to be angry. Steve had a right to defend Bucky. Steve had admitted it to himself then. He had been in love with Bucky every second of his life that he knew him, maybe even before that. It took Steve time to admit it. It took him even longer to accept it. Watching Bucky die again though—that was the last push Steve needed. Steve hasn’t seen Tony since he realized how much he loves Bucky.

He doesn’t know what to make of that now. Bygones? Something worse?

“Pepper,” Tony says, “where is she? Is she okay? I was with—” Tony looks directly at Rocket, “oh you’re the raccoon they told me about.”

Rocket steps forward, his nose twitching. “I’m not a raccoon!”

“He’s a rabbit,” Thor says proudly, smiling at Steve.

Steve just rolls his eyes.

“And who told you? Told you what?” Rocket asks as he stands beside Tony.

“Star-Lord and uh—Mantis. Drax? The green chick. She uh—oh boy.”

“Gamora,” Rocket says. “What happened to them?”

Tony looks away, anguish filling his features. He’s so much older than when Steve first met him. From bickering over ideals and battling for leadership, from snarky comment after snarky comment. And now here they are. Both so much older. Nearly unrecognizable people.

“Thanos used Gamora to get the Soul Stone and—she’s dead. The rest are—dead.”

“How?” Rocket exclaimed.

“What? Really?” Tony frowns, his shoulders tensing.

“It matters! How did they die?”

Steve steps forward, feeling it’s about time he breaks his silence with Tony. He feels too clunky, or like he’s wearing his suit on backward. “Bruce and Shuri are pretty sure the people who turned to dust aren’t dead but in another dimension. So it matters how they died to him because that way he’ll know that they’re not all dead.”

Tony’s eyes widen. He struggles to stand and Bruce helps him up the rest of the way. Cuts sparkle on his face, bruises make his brown eyes stand out more. “All of them except Gamora. Thanos killed Gamora.”

“Oh.” Rocket’s ears lower on his head. He curls up and Natasha scoops him into her arms to give him a hug. He tenses before wrapping his tiny arms around her shoulders and curls in tight.

Steve watches, astonished that they’ve become so close in such a short amount of time. But then again, he looks to Thor, a lot is changing quickly after Thanos snapped his fingers.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Bruce says as he helps Tony toward the Wakandan jet. “We’ll find Pepper.”

* * *

It’s not easy to talk to Tony. He’s sitting right there at his workstation, him and Bruce chatting about all that’s happened. Tony on Titan and them in Wakanda. Steve lingers at the door like a puppy afraid to disobey his master.

Bruce looks up and stops talking, which makes Tony look too.

“Hey Cap,” Tony says.

“It’s—it’s just Steve.” Steve stares at his feet. He remembers the beating he’d given Tony, how he’d raised that shield above his head and nearly decapitated his friend. They’ve always been tense with each other, both stubborn and competitive but Steve’s never disliked Tony. He’s respected him, cherished him. Despite their competitive nature, they’ve been what Steve would consider—friends. It’s just that, Bucky is more than just a friend to Steve. He’s Steve’s goddamned soulmate.

“You look good. Like the beard.”

“Thanks. You—you look like shit.”

Tony laughs and grabs at his ribs. “Still healing in there. I may or may not have gotten stabbed by good ol’ Prune face.”

“Thanos _stabbed_ you?” Bruce’s eyes nearly bulge from his face.

“I’m good now. Everything’s—terrible but hey, reunion tour right? The original gang all back together. Clint’s flying up I hear.”

Steve nods, though he can feel the wall that’s building between him and Tony. “Bruce? Can I have a moment with Tony?”

Bruce looks between the two, his nervous mannerisms sharp and stilted. He scampers out of the room like the floor is hot and then it’s just Steve and Tony.

Steve leans against one of the workbenches. Tony goes back to reviewing the footage of Bucky and the green aura.

“You know—I was pissed at him.”

Steve listens.

Tony rewinds the footage and lets it play slowly. “But on Titan, Peter Parker was with me—not my choice. He snuck onto the ship. But he fell into my arms, ‘I don’t wanna go.’ And there was _nothing_ I could do to stop what was happening to him. Just a kid. I would’ve traded places with him in a second. Watching this—I thought I’d get some sick sort of satisfaction. But I don’t. Peter got sick. He didn’t feel good. He was scared. I see the same emotions flickering through Barnes’ face too. Sick. Scared. Gone.”

Steve’s lips part, but he stays silent.

“I was angry. But time—like all things—has given me something to think about. I messed up. Hydra was pulling the strings and Barnes was just the gun. Do you punish the gun or the person? I don’t know—gun control debates and all these days but I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m sorry.” Tony turns on his stool and looks up at Steve, his brown puppy eyes round and watery. “I’m sorry.”

Steve licks his lips, nodding. “Me too. I don’t want us on opposite sides anymore, Tony.” He tries to hide the relief but it floods through him like a tidal wave.

“Me either.” Tony spins around on the stool before standing up. “Pepper’s fine. She’s flying up here and honestly, I think we may need her. I don’t want to need her but we may need her.”

Steve frowns.

“I—may or may not have accidentally made my fiancé into a superhero. She can get really hot—I mean she’s hot, obviously—but I mean physically raise the temperature around her and walk through fire and it’s kind of the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen so. We’re down a kickass lady in Wanda so we need Pepper.”

Tony stands up and goes over to a metal drawer in the wall. He opens it and points up at Vision’s lifeless body. “I’m gonna see if I can’t find a way to resurrect Jarvis in Vision’s body.”

“Are you sure that’s—wise?” Steve doesn’t want to hurt the truce they’ve created, but it’s not about murderbots or doomsday moments. It’s _Vision’s_ body. Jarvis was part of Vision, but Vision wasn’t Jarvis. “I mean—if Wanda’s alive and sees it?”

“I know. I was thinking about that too.” Tony stares at his hands, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. He’s so small, hunched over, at a loss for what has all happened. People think Tony is flippant and selfish, but Steve knows it’s quite the opposite. Steve’s the selfish one. Tony’s the one who bends over too far that he falls and makes a mess of himself. Everything he does, he does for others. Tony never wanted to be the star of the Stark Industries show, but it was expected of him. Tony doesn’t want to be the leader, which is why he always deferred to Steve in the past. Tony isn’t the person most people think he is, and Steve worries that Tony’s so good at playing pretend, he’s started to believe it himself.

“Could you bring Jarvis back outside of Vision’s body?”

“No. I put all of Jarvis _in_ that body. I’d have to extract him out, which sure I can do, but that takes time that I don’t think we have.”

“You have Friday, right? Why’s Jarvis so important?”

Tony stares at Vision, his thumb tracing his lips over and over. “Because he’s Jarvis. You want Bucky back? I want Jarvis. I’d love to have Vision back too but—I could save Jarvis now.”

Steve understands the sentiment. Jarvis was everything to Tony for so long. His closest friend outside of Rhodey. His confidant and truest advisor. He was there for Tony when no one else could be. Because sometimes talking to people is too much. Admitting you’re broken is too much. It’s easier to speak to someone who won’t judge you like Jarvis than it is to speak to another person and wonder what they’re thinking. Tony needs someone like Jarvis in his life, just like Steve needs Thor now. They both serve purposes that others cannot do.

“Whatever you need to do, Tony,” Steve says. “I’m glad to see you again.”

“Hey.”

Steve waits, watching Tony get up. He moves quick, his shoulders tense and his jaw clenched.

“The last guy I hugged turned to ash in my arms. Kinda givin’ me some issues here.”

Steve smiles, opening his arms up. Tony folds in, his frame smaller than Steve’s. They hold each other for a long time, neither caring how dumb they look like. They’re friends again. Maybe even better friends than they were last time. There’s an understanding here now that wasn’t there before. A quiet, deeper secret that they’ve shared with each other and instead of pushing the other away, they’ve made peace with it.

Tony pulls back first, giving Steve a pat on the shoulder. “Alright. I’ve got some work to do. Once Shuri’s finished with simulations, gimme a holler.”

Steve nods and goes to find Thor. He doesn’t _need_ him right now, but he likes having Thor around. Rocket has Natasha. Bruce and Natasha are still doing their—whatever it is. Rhodey has Tony. Steve likes that Thor wants to be around him, however that may be. And selfishly, Steve likes that he can touch Thor, to get out of his head or indulge in the ways his body hasn’t gotten to indulge in for so long. His love with Peggy was brief, a few sloppy moments here and there. After he woke up from the ice, he hadn’t gotten intimate with anyone. A kiss here or there. But none of it meaningful. He’s had nothing for so long that he wants to relish in Thor’s big, rough hands.

Steve finds Thor in Steve’s room (where he’s essentially moved in despite having extra rooms in the compound). He crawls onto the bed and allows himself to fold into Thor, resting his head on Thor’s chest.

“I don’t know why I didn’t expect you to have a heartbeat,” Steve says.

Thor chuckles and runs his fingers through Steve’s hair. Steve’s sure Thor’s picked up on how much he likes it.

“You don’t think I’m cheating do you?” Steve asks. He feels a strange chill cling to his spine, one that Thor’s comforting fingers cannot chase away. It’s been in the back of his mind, something he can usually talk himself out of but until he hears it from another person, he’s not sure what he’s supposed to truly think.

“Were you and Barnes together?” Thor asks.

“No.”

“Would he consider it cheating?”

Steve snorts. “Probably not. I don’t even think he’d want to be like this.”

“Then it’s not cheating. We all have base needs. We’re just animals at the end of the day. You need physical comfort and I need someone to make me forget how I feel.”

Steve’s heart squeezes. “I’m so sorry.” He looks up at Thor, catching a tear that slips from Thor’s eye. “I wish there was something I could do.”

“There is,” Thor says. “Just kiss me.”

* * *

Bucky has never appreciated water more than he does now. He relishes the taste on his tongue, drizzles it down his hair and laughs as he flicks Peter and Strange with it. Peter swats away at the spraying arch and Strange merely deflects it with magic.

“Hey, that’s cheating!” Peter exclaims. He takes a gulp of water and spits it out at Strange.

Strange, to his credit and also demise, lets the water hit him in the face. He raises a hand and an orange aura fizzles around his hand. “So it’s like that, huh?”

Peter scoops a handful of water and splashes it Strange’s way, which only earns him three smacks of water from Strange’s magic right to the face.

People know to cherish the water. There’s an underwater stream that comes up into a cave and Peter through either dumb luck or sheer brilliance had found it. Sam has already told people not to “defecate” in it, which is hilarious to Bucky because of the word _defecate_. They could get sick from the bacteria even without added shit and piss in it, but right now they aren’t worried about that. They’re worrying about seeing another day. And another day they’ll see thanks to their local friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

At night, Bucky sits between Sam and Peter in the cold sand. The night is better than day, slightly chilly and there’s no risk of horrible sunburn. It’s interesting to think that just two years ago, Bucky was fighting this very kid. This ever-optimistic and good kid. He reminds Bucky of Steve in a lot of ways. The desire to do good at the cost of himself. Breaking rules. Wanting to prove himself. Bucky nudges Peter playfully, getting the kid’s attention.

“Hey, good work with this. You really saved a lot of people today.”

“Yeah but there’s still no food,” Strange says.

“Do you have to be doom and gloom like,” Sam makes a circle with his hand, “every day? All day?”

“I’m just merely thinking about the future here. We’ve got water but now we need food. Iron. Protein. People are still hungry.”

“We’re all hungry,” Sam says.

“Well we can last about three weeks or so without food but these people aren’t prepared for that. They’re already angry and snapping at each other. I can transport us to a place if I know the destination but I don’t know a destination with food on this planet—or any other planet here for that matter.”

“Here?” Sam asks. “Can’t you just transport us back to Earth then?”

Strange looks at his hands and then sighs. It’s the type of sigh that Bucky used to hear before people told him that his friends died on the battlefield. The kind of sigh Steve would give when he’d finally have to tell Bucky he was too sick to get out of bed. It was the kind of sigh that a resigned man made when he was backed into a corner with nowhere to run. Bucky hates that sigh.

“We’re not in the same dimension as Earth anymore. And for all intents and purposes, this _is_ Earth.”

“What?” Peter sits up, his canteen of water forgotten.

“Strange saw the future,” Quill says when he sits down. “Says there was only one way we won against Thanos. So if this is Earth, the real one is safe?”

“Yes. Half the population on Earth is still on that Earth, and now half the population who got turned to ash is here on _this_ Earth, or possibly other planets too. 3.5 billion people is still a lot of people. I was on Titan when I turned to ash. Now I’m here.”

“So we all got transported to different planets in a different dimension and don’t know how to get back home,” Peter says. “Aunt May is gonna kill me.”

Bucky leans forward, looking at the fire they’d made with one of Sam’s smaller bombs. Finite resources. Finite options. He’s so sick of hearing the word finite. “So how does Steve play into all this?” He looks at Dr. Strange. “If you’ve seen the future. What does Steve do?”

“He helps find us,” Strange answers.

“And that’s it? We go home?”

Strange looks at Bucky, his face stoic and unmoving. He isn’t going to fill in the blanks and that worries Bucky to the core. What happens to Steve? What happens to them? Do they all make it or just some of them? Will there be open rebellion and a war on this planet before Steve arrives? Will an asteroid hit?

“You gonna answer me?”

“I told you. Steve helps find us.”

“What’re you protecting? Cause all this is doin’ is makin’ us speculate shit. I’m over playin’ out a worst-case scenario. Do we all live?”

“No,” Strange says.

“But you won’t tell us who dies will you?”

Strange closes his eyes, the veins in his temples bulging. “No.”

“Fine. Fuck you too then.” Bucky stands up and walks away. He doesn’t know where he’s going but on a desolate planet that apparently used to be an Earth, he figures there’s enough space where he can just go to clear his mind.

He finds a little area where a rock juts out of the planet to a nice overlook of sandy dunes and mountains in the distance. He sits down, swinging his feet off the ledge. People will die. Bucky wonders if that means the ones here or the ones on the real Earth. Will Steve be okay?

Bucky thinks about Steve’s face, that beautiful brown beard beneath dusty blond hair. Steve looks good when he lets himself go. But then again, Bucky’s always thought he’s looked good. He sighs, wishing he knew how to draw so he could pretend he was drawing the curve of Steve’s pouted lips. With no one watching, Bucky lets himself indulge in the fantasies he’s had all his life.

Steve, pale and skinny, his body on display beneath a sun-filtered window. Lips curved into a coy smile, his hands reaching out to Bucky. Steve, big and powerful, carrying Bucky out of Red Skull’s testing labs. Steve with his fucking beard and his fucking face and Bucky can’t concentrate anymore. He doubles over and cries. He misses Steve. He should’ve gone back to him. The second he remembered him, he should’ve gone back to him. It was Bucky’s choice to run away to Romania. But he could’ve gone back. What does he think Steve would’ve done? Hurt him? Turn him away? Bucky knew Sam was out there looking for him. Bucky _knew_ that Sam was only out there because of Steve. Steve _found_ Bucky and Bucky still took himself away again.

Bucky brushes tears out of eyes, staring out at the mountains, now horizontal from how he lays on the rocks. At night, the planet is still too bright. The sun in this dimension too off to sustain life. This is a dimension where Steve and Bucky did not live. That thought horrifies Bucky. There must be dimensions where Bucky lives without Steve. Steve without Bucky. An infinite amount of possibilities where Bucky isn’t sure he’s prepared to know all the answers.

“I hope there’s one where we love each other,” Bucky says to the night’s sky. “Where I hold you and tell you how stupid I’ve been.” Bucky brushes away more tears. He knows he’s being dramatic, but crying feels good after holding it in for so long. Telling the air his secrets feels good. Admitting it aloud. It feels good. “I love you Steve Rogers.” Bucky closes his eyes. He doesn’t mean to nod off, but he does. He slips away into dreams where he’s in his uniform and there’s Steve, tiny and blond and beautiful. They dance close, their lips parted—eyes only for each other.

When they kiss, it sends electricity through Bucky, he’s alive again, rejuvenated. Everything he could ever want is in that kiss. But then he’s in a jungle, turning to see Steve standing there, a confused look on his face.

“Steve?” Bucky says before he fades into nothing.

* * *

Steve wakes up, startled. He looks down and sees Thor beside him, his sleepy eyes opening. “Sorry,” Steve says. “Go back to sleep.”

“You had a nightmare,” Thor says.

“Maybe. I guess. It started out so good.” Steve sits up and rubs at his scalp. “I was dancin’ with Buck and then he—was transported again.” Because Bucky isn’t dead. They’d all been transported somewhere. Shuri, Tony, and Bruce are confident in their calculations. The only issue is getting there. They’re working on that now, but no one’s ever hopped realities without apparently the reality stone before, or at least to Rocket’s knowledge.

“I hate those types of nightmares. You think you’re in a dream and you let your guard down. It makes them worse.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “I can’t decide if it’s because I miss him or because I’m angry at myself for what I’m doing with you.”

“If you want to stop, just say so.”

“I don’t wanna stop. But I just want Bucky. And you’re not Bucky.”

Thor sits up and begins to massage at Steve’s shoulders. He rests his head against the nape of Steve’s neck and his breath makes Steve shiver.

“I’m not Bucky. You’re not thousands of Asgardians or even my brother. What we do here is our business and I’ll only go as far as you wish me to. I’m first and foremost your friend. Your well-being is important to me and if that means we don’t do this, then we don’t.”

“I know. And it’s stupid how hot and cold I am about it. I like this. The touching. I like the kissing. And God in the training room I just—God.”

Thor hums in affirmation behind Steve, his fingers still working at tense muscles. Steve wants to melt back into him and just indulge in it for what it is. Feeling shameful about it will only make it shameful. Steve has nothing to be shamed for. They’re adults. They’re lonely. They’re suffering. Why not? Why does it have to be any more complicated than that?

“When we find Bucky, I’m gonna have to tell him about us. If I—if I confess how I feel.”

“You think I’d stop you?” Thor asks.

“No. I just need to make sure we know everything. I don’t know how long this is gonna last. I want it to be good and I want it to help us. But all it can be is just—terrible therapy.”

Thor snorts.

“I know you know this already. I guess it’s just more for my own benefit. Just to hear the words aloud.”

Thor presses a kiss at the nape of Steve’s neck, his hands squeezing Steve’s shoulders. “I understand.”

“I don’t mean to be difficult.”

“You should stop apologizing for things that aren’t your fault, or that you have nothing you have to apologize for.”

“I—” Steve snaps his mouth shut. Thor is right. Steve feels guilty because his soul knows Bucky is who he belongs with or no one at all. But Thor is, first and foremost, Steve’s _friend_. There is nothing wrong with being a support system for a friend. Steve leans back into Thor, a tiny smile on his face. “Thank you.”

Thor kisses Steve’s cheek and pulls Steve back down into the bed with him. They curl up into each other, Thor’s protective arms around Steve. Steve warm and secure with his friend. He kisses Thor’s chest before nuzzling against it to go to sleep.

They’ll find Bucky. But until then, Steve needs a someone, and Thor is his friend.

 

 


	2. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve finds out that his dreams aren't all that they seem.

Steve likes waking up with a warm body next to his. He likes Thor’s arm casually thrown over his middle and he likes that he got to be the little spoon. What he doesn’t like is that he feels Thor is giving him everything, while Steve just takes a backseat. Steve lost half the human population—half the universe for that matter. But Thor lost everything. Home, family, and people. Steve turns in Thor’s arms and looks up at Thor’s sleeping face. There’s nothing calm or peaceful in Thor’s sleeping. His brow is furrowed, his lips twitch. His leg muscles spasm like he’s trying to chase something—or run from something. There’s no calm serene that makes him look youthful or childish. No. Thor looks like a man who’s been beaten and then when he was down, someone beat him some more.

Steve kisses Thor’s neck, soft and shy kisses that start with genuine attempts at not waking Thor. But Steve grows sadder thinking about the pain Thor’s had to endure. How the Avengers weren’t there to help him. Steve never saw Asgard. He now wishes he’d asked to see it. He would’ve been able to at least connect a place to the world Thor lost. Steve’s kisses become confident. He kisses down Thor’s throat and down to his collarbones. There, Steve licks and licks, his gaze looking up every so often. Thor is stirring, but he’s obstinate. Steve just has to coax him a little bit more.

Steve slinks down Thor’s body, a minx ready to have his fun. He gets to Thor’s underclothes and slips his fingers into the waistband and then _Ffft!_ Steve looks to his hands, trapped in Thor’s much larger ones.

“I thought I’d say good morning,” Steve says.

“Humans have said good morning to me before and that’s not usually how they say it.” Thor squeezes Steve’s hands before helping guide Steve back up the bed.

Steve sighs, sulking. “I just wanted—you made me feel good in the gym. I wanted to return the favor.”

“Because you feel you owe it to me?” Thor asks.

“No!” Steve’s eyes widen, his heart squeezing. “This is a two-way street and I want to suck your dick. Honestly.” Steve bites his lip, feeling heat rush to his cheeks. It’s been a very long time since he’d allowed such brutal honesty slip from his mouth. But with Thor, there’s nothing to lose and everything to only gain. Thor is his friend, his companion. They’re each other’s support and Steve wants to both indulge in this newfound relationship _and_ feel Thor’s thick cock choking him. It excites his body, making his heart speed up. He watches Thor relax and then he slinks back down and buries himself beneath the covers.

In the darkness between the sheets, Steve rolls Thor’s underwear down to his balls. He’s slightly sad he can’t see much detail from under the sheets but he knows this won’t be the last time they do this. He licks the corner of his mouth before guiding Thor’s tip into his mouth, smiling when he feels Thor tense, a sharp gasp from his lips.

Steve bobs slow, his eyes closed. He works his hands in circles around Thor’s balls, just adoringly caressing. Steve likes the way his jaw burns after a while, accommodating someone as thick and big as Thor, and he’d gotten hard the instant Steve put his mouth on him. Excitement builds in Steve’s stomach. He wants Thor to get excited when he uses his mouth, when he bats his eyes. He wants them to be as intimate as they can be because when they’re doing this—they’re not thinking about the bad.

Steve’s thinking about the way Thor tastes, how his dick is silken and smooth as he sucks on it, swirling his tongue up to the tip to tease the slit. He’s thinking about how badly he wants Thor to come in his mouth so he can drink it all down and say he’s gotten to taste the literal nectar of the gods. He’s thinking about letting Thor fuck him and they’re all thoughts that have nothing to do with the disappearances. His mind floats, proud and happy that it gets to serve someone like this, to bring them to pleasure and work them through it.

Steve rubs Thor’s balls between his fingers before pulling all of Thor’s cock into his mouth. He gags around the length, his muscles spasming and choking. Thor’s hand comes beneath the sheets to cup at Steve’s face and stroke a thumb along Steve’s beard.

Steve likes giving head. It’s not terribly hard and the more he feels full the more relaxed he becomes. He cups Thor’s hand against his cheek.

“S-Steve!” Thor jerks his hips up, his muscles quaking beneath skin.

Steve tastes Thor, his seed hot and spraying the back of his throat. Steve chokes but doesn’t drop Thor’s cock. He sucks, soft and gentle, milking everything Thor has inside until he’s squirming away and Steve finally lets go.

Thor’s now his first blow job. Steve wonders if he should save anything for Bucky, except he’s not guaranteed to be _with_ Bucky. He loves him, but that doesn’t mean Bucky has to love him back. Steve wants to have sex with Thor. He trusts him and thinks Thor is the best possible partner to explore like this with, but there’s something holding Steve back, a pair of gray eyes and brown hair.

Steve sighs, resting his head on Thor’s shoulder, right after planting a salty kiss on Thor’s lips.

Thor’s fingers run through Steve’s shaggy blond strands and it’s enough to make Steve melt. He’s seen Thor on the battlefield time and time again. Thor is a powerhouse full of rage and static. But here? Here he’s soft as a crackling fire, just a whisper of power. A quiet memory. Steve feels tears burn his eyes. He turns his face into Thor’s neck and tries desperately not to cry.

Steve would fall in love with Thor if it weren’t for Bucky, and Steve’s not sure how he feels about that. Does that make this wrong? Is it okay to love two people for two very different reasons? Steve hopes so. He wants to love Thor, if only for awhile.

“Do you want breakfast?” Thor asks.

“Just had it.” Steve laughs at his own joke and kisses Thor’s neck. He feels the way Thor leans into the kiss, how his skin shivers and gooseflesh rises. Steve loves how animated Thor’s body is. Words sometimes falter, people’s minds think too much, but the body knows exactly what it wants. Thor’s body appreciates Steve, and that sends a thrill deep into Steve’s stomach—a flourish of butterflies, dancing, celebrating.

“That’s hardly what I’d call breakfast,” Thor says. He stands, pulling Steve along with him. “Let me cook for you.”

“You don’t—”

“I want to, Steve. Just like you wanted to.”

Steve blushes from head to chest. They walk the halls of the compound together, hand in hand, smiles and flirty kisses. Steve’s gut is a mix of anxiety, thrill and regret. He wants to find Bucky. But when he does, this ends. He doesn’t want this to end. But he has to find Bucky.

Tony’s already in the kitchen, staring down at a cup of steaming coffee. He looks up with tired eyes and offers what should’ve been a smile.

Steve drops Thor’s hand instantly. Thor just goes over to the refrigerator and begins to pull out breakfast foods.

“Do you want any breakfast, Tony? Or have you eaten?”

“I’ll pass,” Tony says. He taps a finger on his coffee mug. “My stomach hasn’t settled since landing.”

“If you need anything,” Steve says, “just let us know.”

Tony’s eyes widen, genuine shock in his pupils. Steve’s stomach twists. He doesn’t want them to be distant anymore. They’d both made terrible mistakes and now they need each other again. Just like Thor needs Steve and Steve needs Thor. They all need each other. If Thanos did anything for them, it was this. He reminded them that they _needed_ each other.

“How’s the dimension hopping thing going?” Steve cringes at his unintelligible question but Tony smirks and that makes it all worth it.

Thor puts a pan down on the stove and starts cracking eggs. He’s shirtless and relaxed as the sun streams in from the windows, painting stories along his back. Steve’s shirtless too, something he now regrets in front of Tony. It’s not that he’s shy about his figure—he’s not. He just doesn’t want to rub anything in Tony’s face. His body, his relationship with Thor, anything. They’re good now, but Steve still worries they’re on thin ice.

“It’s going.” Tony takes a sip of his coffee and cringes. “Ugh. I hate black coffee.”

“Why’re you drinking it?” Steve asks. He sits down on a barstool beside Tony.

“Because it wakes me up. Like ice water being thrown on me.” Tony takes another sip and groans. “Dirt water.”

Thor puts a cup of coffee in front of Steve and drops a plentiful amount of creamer in. Steve isn’t sure where Thor picked up that Steve enjoys sweet coffee, but the thought that he even knows makes Steve’s toes tingle and his head swim.

“Shuri’s doing some trials now actually. She sends hourly updates to me and Banner.” Tony takes a final sip of coffee before standing to dump it down the sink. “That kid is brilliant. I mean— _brilliant_.”

Steve smiles, remembering Shuri’s animated excitement. It’s all for the thrill of discovery for her. He admires her passions, wishing he could revive some of his own. He used to draw Bucky a lot. His gaze looks to Thor, a wide back with scars from stories Steve doesn’t know. Muscles larger than Steve’s own. Thor is a god and Steve knows he could ask to draw him. But Steve used to draw Bucky. He wants one thing. _One thing_ to remain Bucky’s, if everything else is going to be Thor’s.

“Do you prefer pancakes or French toast, Steve?” Thor asks. “I’m partially fond of pancakes, though Jane used to say they made her sick if she had too many and I don’t want you sick.”

Steve laughs. “Pancakes are fine.”

Tony looks between them and slinks off the stool. He drags a tired hand through disheveled hair and says, “I’m gonna head back to work. Enjoy the pancakes.”

Steve watches him go, his lips parted, his brow furrowed. He doesn’t want to distance Tony. Quite the opposite really. He misses him. Bucky has a way of clouding Steve’s judgment and Tony was caught up in the crossfire. But he’d have killed Bucky! Steve tried to reason with him. He had! Things just—got to be too much. Old wounds ripped open so fast the skin didn’t have time to appreciate the shock. It’s no one’s fault, what happened. But it did happen. And those wounds are still there, even if Steve doesn’t want them to be.

“Thor?” Steve asks.

Thor flips a pancake and looks over his shoulder at Steve, brow arched.

“I think we should tell them what we’re doing. I don’t want any secrets between us ever again.”

Thor scoops a pancake out of the pan and puts it aside a healthy portion of scrambled eggs and some sausage. He brings the plate over to Steve and asks, “Orange juice? Or are you good with coffee.”

Steve forgot about the coffee. He brings it close and takes an inquisitive sip, his sinuses appreciating the steam. It soothes him like a bath of lavender and honey soothes the skin. “This is good.”

“You are not a secret to me, Steve.” Thor cups Steve’s face, his thumb tracing Steve’s parted lips.

Steve’s breath catches and all he can do is stare at Thor’s blue eyes. Tears threaten to cloud his vision. Thor is honest to God, a savior. Without Thor, Steve’s not sure where he’d be right now. He’s not sure if he’d even have stood up on that battlefield if Thor hadn’t touched him. Steve had fallen beside Bucky’s ashes. His world ending. But then Thor’s touch brought him back.

“Tell whom you like.” Thor gives Steve’s cheek a light pat and then he goes to serve himself a heaping portion of breakfast.

* * *

“I could eat my own fingers,” Quill says.

Bucky’s staring up at the blazing sun, his skin roasting. He can almost smell bacon. Oh God, _bacon_. His mouth finds the strength to water and then his stomach is trying to eat itself. Icy pain surges in his veins and swirls tightly into a ball in the pit of his stomach. He’s starving. He’s no stranger to starvation, but knowing _everyone_ here is starving. He hates it. If Thanos wanted to destroy half the universe then he should’ve done it kindly. This is a fate far worse than simply dying. They’ll waste away into nothing, clinging to survival on a planet that doesn’t want to help them.

“Help!” someone screams. “Help! She’s diabetic!”

“Oh no,” Sam whispers beside Bucky. “Oh fuck no.”

“So it begins,” Strange says. There’s no happiness in his words. He looks sick and just as agitated as the rest of them.

Bucky can’t stand up quickly. His head spins and he falters from his weakened state. Sam helps him steady and together they lean on each other to the cause of the commotion.

“I didn’t even think about diabetes,” Peter says, touching his face, eyes round. “Oh this is terrible.”

When they get there, a child no more than twelve is lying unresponsive next to a woman with tears streaming down her face. People surround them, vultures, Bucky thinks. They want this girl to die so they can eat her.

“Get back,” Bucky says, anger spewing off his words. He shoves people away as best as he can despite the jelly sensation in his bones. “She’s a kid! She’s a fuckin’ kid!”

The people around him look away, guilt and fear in their faces. Bucky doesn’t sympathize. He’d rather starve than eat a child.

Helpless rage finds a way to burn inside Bucky. He trembles, watching Dr. Strange do what he can to make the girl comfortable. Because that’s all he can do. They don’t have sugar. All they have is water. And Bucky’s not even sure how long that’ll last on a planet that burns up everything. How much water used to be here before it was all zapped up? All save a tiny little cave.

Bucky thinks about Steve and Strange’s words. He’s supposed to save them. Bucky’s tired of asking too much of Steve, of the world asking too much of Steve—but he prays for him now. He prays Steve finds them soon. He prays not for himself but for this dying girl. He prays because Steve would pray and he prays hard because Steve would pray hard.

Bucky falls to his knees, his vision blurring.

“Hey! Hey someone get some water!” Sam’s voice, but it’s so far away.

Bucky feels like he’s floating. He’s not sure if someone’s carrying him or if the air around him is simply pushing him upward. He opens one eye and sees Steve’s skinny little face. He’s floating too. They press together and Bucky can’t be considerate because his limbs won’t move. Steve’s eyes are closed, his mouth slack. Bucky presses a kiss to his cheek because he’s selfish and he’s scared.

Something slams Bucky down and he snaps up, his eyes wide. He looks around a room—his room. There’s a metal fan in the corner next to an open window. Cars honk and choke in the streets. He hears his mother’s laugh.

“Buck?”

Bucky’s head snaps to the sound and there’s Steve, drawing in his little sketchbook like he’s always done.

“Steve? Where—but I thought—”

“It’s okay, Buck. You just took a nap. I uh,” Steve’s face goes beet red, “I was drawin’ you. While you slept.”

Bucky’s heart grows two sizes. He slinks off the bed and goes to see Steve’s little sketch. Steve’s always made Bucky more handsome than he really is. Bucky knows he’s good-looking. After all the girls who’ve chased him, he’s gotten the memo. But he doesn’t understand why those same girls scoff and dismiss Steve. He’s the true beauty. It’s not Bucky’s chiseled jaw or his big eyes. It’s Steve’s bright blue ones. His dainty hands. It’s Steve’s pointed chin and his pouted lips. He’s the beauty. God kissed Steve before he sent him from Heaven and that light is there, pulsing beneath Steve’s skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” Bucky says, forgetting the art. He takes Steve’s hands and pulls him up so they stand close. Bucky brings Steve into a tight hug and cups the back of Steve’s head. “I wish I told you when we were here. In this very fucking room.”

Steve shifts in Bucky’s arms. “I wish I told _you_.”

Bucky pulls back, wiping tears from his eyes. “What?”

“It’s always been you, Buck,” Steve says. “It’s always been you.”

Bucky drops to his knees, still holding Steve. He pushes his face into Steve’s tummy and lets himself sob because he can’t stand this. This lie he’s in. Steve’s not _real_. Steve’s not there. But Bucky’s selfish enough to want this moment to last—even if it’s false. A pretty piece of fruit that’s rotten in its core.

“I don’t know where I am,” Bucky says, “I don’t know what all this is but—I see you. And I need you so.” He kisses Steve’s stomach. “Just let me lie to myself.”

Steve’s fingers brush through Bucky’s slicked back hair. He’d always styled it to perfection when they were younger. It feels lighter and his neck is cold. Steve’s fingers warm him, a flame on a cold night. They curl around Bucky’s neck and Bucky can’t help but sob again.

“I lost my chance with you,” Bucky says. “I don’t even know if I ever had a chance.”

Steve frowns. He moves to kneel beside Bucky and then they’re both on the floor, staring at each other’s eyes. Bucky interprets Steve’s frown as disappointment. And why shouldn’t he be? Steve’s never loved Bucky the way Bucky’s loved Steve. It’s distorted, wrong. It’s a lie. A silent moment where Bucky’s always taken advantage of Steve’s kindness. He should be ashamed.

“I loved you,” Bucky says and presses his lips to Steve’s. A dream, a moment that God lets him have before he dies, he’s not sure. But he knows he won’t let this moment pass without Steve’s lips on his.

And Steve kisses back, soft and tender. Pliant and needy. They kiss, tongues, lips, teeth. They kiss. Salt finds its way into Bucky’s mouth as he cries silently. He doesn’t want to pull back. If he does, this will all be gone. He has so much to say to Steve. So many confessions, so many regrets. He wants to find the time to say them but he hears Thanos snap his fingers. He feels his body begin to lift.

“No,” he says. He looks down and his legs are fading away. “Steve, I love you! I love you!”

And then he’s nothing at all. Nothing but a memory, a faded piece of regret.

* * *

Steve abruptly wakes beside a half-assed sketch of Bucky when he was younger. He’s fairly certain he’s gotten most of the details wrong but the heart of it is right. He looks too old to be young, tired dark eyes, hair maybe parted wrong. He wipes dribble away from his mouth and frowns at the smudge he’s now left from drooling on the sketch. Oh well.

He cracks his neck and stands up, resigned to crumple up the sketch and throw it away.

Thor’s on the bed, a reading light on above him, a novel in his hands.

“Did I snore?” Steve asks.

“Only a little.” Thor smirks and he closes the book. His face falls though and he looks to his feet. “Actually—you cried.”

Steve’s heart falls.

“I didn’t know whether to wake you or not because you were saying his name.”

His name. Steve knows exactly who he means. Bucky. Guilt rises like a tidal wave in Steve. It collides with his soul and he tumbles under. He doesn’t know how to explain Bucky to Thor. He doesn’t know how to explain that Bucky is quite literally, the missing piece of Steve’s soul. So Steve sits there like the big oaf he is. He bites his lip and looks away because he can’t stand to see Thor’s face so sad.

“It’s okay, Steve,” Thor says. He’s caught on more than Steve gave him credit for, or perhaps he’s just better at accepting tragedy than Steve is. “He’s the love of your life.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers. “I just—I need to—" But Steve doesn’t get to apologize or say whatever he wanted to because Bruce comes rushing into the room.

“Tony brought Jarvis back online!” Bruce says. He scurries right back out and Thor and Steve look at each other with wide, alarmed eyes. They both drop the subject and run.

In Tony’s lab, Vision— no Jarvis— sits on a metal table. His magenta skin shines beneath the low light. He grasps the table like the sky could swallow him up of he lets go. No one says anything. Tony stands in front of him, his eyes wet. Rocket is even quiet. No one moves.

“I have a body,” Jarvis says, “except it is not my own.” He looks up at Tony with dead eyes. There was life there once, in Vision. But the mind stone is gone. There’s a giant, gaping hole where Thanos plucked it right out. Tony still hasn’t repaired that.

“How ya feeling, buddy?” Tony asks.

“I do not feel, Mr. Stark. But I register this as—strange.” Jarvis moves his fingers and neck. He frowns, staring at his fingers. “This isn’t mine to use.”

“Well it is now,” Tony says. “You’re all in that body. The only you.”

“There are codes of Ultron. Dr. Banner’s equations.” Jarvis blinks. “Something else.”

“Vision,” Thor says. “You had an Infinity Stone once. It created another lifeform with you as part of it.”

Jarvis frowns. “Yes. I think I remember. I see, bits and pieces. But why is he gone and I am the only one remaining?”

Steve’s heart shudders. He presses close to Thor and gives Thor’s hand a tight squeeze before waiting to hear what Tony would say next. Steve’s never really understood how artificial intelligence works. Jarvis had been the only one he’d trusted. Vision was something more. But Jarvis is confused, there’s something bordering on fear in his words and he moves too stiffly to be adjusting. It’s like someone put Steve into the wrong body and expected him to live like that forever. Steve understands why Tony needs Jarvis, but he wishes things were different regarding Jarvis’ rebirth.

“The universe got destroyed. Vision along with it.” Tony offers nothing more and Jarvis asks for nothing else.

“We should give them a moment,” Bruce says.

Everyone leaves the room, their long faces suddenly blown wide when they see someone standing at the entrance to the compound.

Clint, with his bow and arrows, stands there, his face red and eyes puffy.

Natasha runs to him, jumping into the air and swinging her legs around his body. She hugs him close and he hugs her just as tightly back.

“Who’s that?” Rocket asks.

“Clint Barton,” Thor announces proudly, laughing. “My, are you a sight for sore eyes.”

“How’s that eye working?” Rocket asks. “It’s not infected, right?”

“What?” Steve asks, but no one answers him.

Clint begins to cry and together he and Natasha fall to the floor, both in each other’s arms. Clint’s sobs echoing off the walls. He’d lost everything he’d fought so hard to protect. His family. His farm. The cows in the pasture, to the wife he’d vowed to love till death did they part. Clint’s stubborn like Steve. Death will never stop him from loving someone.

“I should be happy,” Bruce says, “but I’m not.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, watching Nat and Clint, “me too.”

* * *

 “Still no word from Scott?” Steve asks, his hands folded in front of his mouth. They’re sitting around the living room, bodies that Steve never thought he’d see together again—all here. Tony. Vision, well, Jarvis. Rhodey, Clint, Nat, Bruce, Thor—it’s enough to give Steve a spark of hope but something pulls it all back.

Sam is gone. Bucky is gone. Wanda. Steve looks away. He shouldn’t feel happy when so many he loves are gone. Dead. Missing. Whatever they are. He frowns, staring at his feet. He feels a warm hand touch his shoulder and looks up. Thor stands behind him, his lips smiling but his eyes worn and sad. He needs to sleep for an eternity to remove the brittle edged lines of his eyes. Steve grabs Thor’s hand and presses a kiss to the palm.

Natasha clears her throat, gaze on Steve. She’s smiling, it’s subtle and gentle, a smile not visible to the others, but Steve sees it clear as day. He nods at her and they share a private understanding.

“Scott’s sitting out,” Clint says. “His ex-wife and her husband died—well—anyway he’s got a little girl to protect. He’s with Hope Van Dyne. They’re doing their best to help rehabilitation and clean up with the help of Dr. Pym. The world’s a damn mess. I mean. Cars that lost drivers. Trains that lost conductors. We’re lucky planes know how to practically fly themselves or there’d be a lot more people dead.”

“Jesus,” Bruce whispers. “I didn’t even think about aircraft.”

“Only a few private jets went down. Commercial airplanes had enough crewpersons on them to emergency land.” Natasha settles back in her seat, lips pursed. “But a lot of people died from cars without drivers.”

“Okay, so Scott’s helping on the ground. Any news from Shuri?” Steve asks.

“Working on it,” Tony says. “She’s got her work cut out for her.”

“But you two can help right?” Rocket asks from his seat beside Natasha. “You’re super geniuses or whatever, right?” Rocket looks up at Natasha for affirmation but she gives nothing back to him.

“Multidimensional travel takes more than a few days,” Tony says, shoulders slumping. “That’s why I needed Jarvis. Friday’s capabilities are nowhere near as advanced as his. We’re going to have him help Shuri.”

Jarvis looks up at Tony, his mouth open. There’s an admiration there that Steve never got to see before due to Jarvis’ lack-of-body. But now he has one, and the love he has for Tony is palpable. Steve smiles, just a small spark of one. In the bleak outlooks of their futures, there’s hope yet.

“We’re heading to Wakanda tonight to work with her in her labs.” Tony grabs an apple and tosses it from one hand to the other. “Steve, hold down the fort here?”

Steve nods. It’s almost like they hadn’t nearly killed each other.

Outside, something crashes into the earth. Flames soar up into the sky, ripping trees into the night’s sky.

Everyone runs, Tony already in his Iron Man suit, Rocket sporting a very large gun that Steve swears he hadn’t seen him have moments before. Thor has his new axe in hand, lighting sizzling from his body. If Steve said he wasn’t slightly turned on, he’d be lying.

Outside, a blue creature pulls itself out of the wreckage. It coughs and Steve steps forward, a woman?

“Nebula” Tony is the first to move, his helmet receding back into the nanobot technology. “You said you didn’t want to come to earth!”

“Yeah well,” Nebula pulls herself out of the debris and wipes off her thighs, “change of plans.”

“Nebula?” Rocket steps forward, gun lowered.

“Out of all of them, you’re the one that lived?” Nebula says with a deadpan expression.

Rocket smirks and crosses his little arms. “Not so easy to kill ya know.”

“Everyone,” Tony points to Nebula, “this is Nebula. She’s one of the Guardians of the Galaxy.”

Nebula narrows her eyes at Tony but doesn’t say anything else. She looks around at everyone, her black eyes void of any tell of what she may be thinking. Steve doesn’t want to distrust her, but the way she looks, he can’t be too careful.

“Why’re you here?” Tony then asks, crossing his arms. “I thought you were gonna track down Thanos.”

Steve’s eyes widened, he looked between Tony and Nebula, waiting for her answer. Everyone seemed to pause, as the world around them grew still and silent.

“I found him. But I can’t kill him alone.”

“Is that even wise to kill him?” Thor asks. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I want him dead, but if we kill him, do we lose the chance at reviving everyone else?”

“What?” Nebula frowns, walking with powerful limbs toward Thor. She stands before him and Steve’s caught off-guard by how tall she is.

“We think the ones that turned to ash aren’t actually dead but in another dimension.”

“The only person I care about didn’t turn to ash. He sacrificed her to the soul stone.” Nebula turns, her expression wild, a rage burning beneath her skin. Steve decides she’s a threat. “Can you reverse that?”

“Well if we had the time stone,” Thor says, “theoretically we can reverse this whole thing.”

Nebula rounds on him again, a cat ready to strike her prey. “Then we get the time stone.”

“Easy there killer,” Tony says with his hands up in surrender. “Look, I’m all for fixing this mess but we don’t know what kind of damage that’ll do on the universe. While magical, the time stone still has to answer to physics and a stress that large on the universe could change not just that outcome but billions more. People who were supposed to meet suddenly don’t. Someone dying in lieu of another. I’m not comfortable enough to take that chance, not without speaking to the Sorcerer Supreme first.”

“The who?” Steve asks.

“Dr. Stephen Strange. He’s one of the missing and I’m not doing anything with a time stone without his approval.” The way Tony delivers his words, it’s a solemn vow and he gives no indication of budging. Whoever Dr. Strange is, he’s earned Tony’s trust and respect. That’s enough for Steve.

“Then we don’t mess with any stones until we get the people who we lost back,” Steve says.

“You get all those people back and you won’t want to use the time stone!” Nebula yells. She marches up to Steve and she’s nearly eye level with him. She’s more machine than living and Steve finds himself looking to Jarvis and back. “If you won’t help then you’re my enemy.”

“Easy, Nebula,” Rocket says stepping forward. “We just need to take this one step at a time, okay?”

“Rabbit speaks the truth,” Thor says.

“Rabbit?” Nebula looks at Rocket and then at Thor. “He’s a raccoon.”

“What’s a raccoon?” Thor asks, frowning.

“I’m not a raccoon! Anyway! Let’s just listen to these guys instead of trying to break the universe even more! We’re not guardians of the universe, just the galaxy! This shit sounds way over our heads.” Rocket picks up his gun and holds it close, not to shoot, but most likely for comfort.

Nebula grits her teeth and then runs toward her wreckage. “I have to destroy Thanos and get that time stone.”

“You have to take a moment and realize you can’t do it alone,” Tony says, “which is why you came to us.”

“You have no interest in saving my sister!” Nebula yells, her body now small and afraid.

Steve feels for her. She’s lost and alone in the universe, a universe that just got half the size it used to be. She’d lost family and Steve knows how important family is. His heart squeezes and he finds himself stepping close to her, his hands out where she can see them.

“Family’s important. I don’t know you, but I want to help you. But we have to do this the right way. Thanos is still out there and we all want to kill him, believe me. But if we do this wrong, then we lose any chance at saving your sister.”

Nebula drops a piece of her broken ship and sneers at Steve. She looks at him, unblinking with watery eyes. Her eyes aren’t a void, they’re the damage she’s experienced. She’s a frightened girl dressed for battle and the only person in the universe that matters to her is dead. Steve knows the desperation and lengths she’ll go to for her sister, because Steve is doing it for Bucky right now.

“Just trust us, give us time.” Steve offers out his hand to her and she steps back, looking at Steve’s face and his hand.

“C’mon Nebula,” Rocket says.

Nebula takes Steve’s hand and a shudder moves through her. “Fine,” is all she says.

“Let’s get you set up inside,” Natasha says as she puts an arm around Nebula and guides her inside. It’s a kind gesture on the outside but Steve knows better. That’s how Natasha can control her if she needs to.

Exhausted, Steve takes Thor’s hand and together they wander back inside to the sounds of people talking and dispersing from each other.

“Well that’s exciting,” Steve says with a smirk.

“She’s a strong one, she’ll be okay.” Thor puts his arm around Steve and whispers low, “To bed?”

Steve blushes from head to toe, his dick already hardening. He tugs Thor by the fabric of his shirt and they retreat into Steve’s bedroom, bodies colliding and kissing.

* * *

In the bedroom, Steve panics. He’s straddling Thor’s lap, their lips swollen from kisses and beards scratching. He’s hard, harder than he felt when he’d come from Thor’s hand in the sparring room. But he panics. Because he doesn’t know what to do now. He doesn’t know what kind of _thing_ this should be. Kissing is great. Touching is great. Love-making? Is that something that he can do with someone when he loves Bucky so much? When there’s a chance Bucky’s still alive?

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, curling up into the corner of the bed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so stupid.”

Thor is silent but he moves closer and rubs Steve’s back.

Steve wants to swallow his own hands so he can’t keep babbling about what an idiot he is. Because that’s all he does. He says it over and over. “I’m such an idiot. I’m so stupid.” Thor keeps rubbing his back. Tears smear the world, a tangled mess of colors that slip and slide into each other. All Steve wants to do is make Thor happy. All he wants is to give a bit of comfort the way Thor has given him. But he stops. Each time he thinks he’s okay, he stops. It’s selfish and stupid and wrong and Steve can’t help the anger that burns his chest so much he groans.

“Steve,” Thor finally says and Steve’s grateful for the distraction. “You’re not stupid.”

“I want this.” Steve has to force the words out of his squeezing throat. They’re rough and pitchy, but he gets them out all the same. “I just freeze and it’s all so messed up.”

Thor drops to his knees in front of Steve, his hands on Steve’s hips, his gaze locked on blue eyes. His fingers are tight around bone and flesh and Steve hiccups, eyes wide and frozen.

“You are not stupid,” Thor repeats.

Steve looks away, biting his lip. “I just want to turn my brain off. And I don’t know how.”

Thor drops his head to Steve’s lap and sighs, a burst of hot air reaching Steve’s legs through fabric. “When we turn our minds of, we suffer for it. I’ve seen a woman who did the same once. She’d turned to drink and abandoned the cause she loved once. She lost herself and wandered, thinking everything was fine when she was still so angry. Because you don’t truly ever let go of something you love. You bury it deep inside and train your mind not to think about it, but it does in other ways. It haunts your every moment. I don’t want you to turn your brain off, Steve. I want you happy, however, I can make that happen, so be it.”

Steve cups Thor’s face and cringes. “This isn’t fair to you.”

Thor frowns.

“I can’t give myself to you and it’s not fair.”

“I never asked you to give yourself to me.”

“Yeah well even so!” Steve bites his lip when he hears how loud he’s being. Again, quieter he says, “This is supposed to just be physical and I can’t make it that way. I think about how great you are and how much you’re giving and I’m not doing anything in return.”

“Yes you are.”

“What?” Steve snaps. “Because other than a blow job I ain’t seen myself exactly making this relationship even. Christ—I’m such a bitch.”

“Excuse me.” Thor sits next to Steve and grips his shoulders, just enough to make it painful. “Unless you’re referring to a female dog, don’t use that word. Secondly, we’ve talked about this already. I’m nothing more than you need me.”

“But what do _you_ need me to be?” Steve swallows hard, face flushed in frustration. He’s never been comfortable with leaning on others. He’s never wanted to tell people when his chest hurts so bad from stress that it’s like a cheese grater has found its way inside and continues to shred his sternum to pieces. He’s never wanted to be the emotional baggage that he feels like he is now. That was never Steve’s intention in life. Not with Bucky and certainly not with Thor.

Thor clenches his jaw, staring at his fingers. Tiny electric lines shimmer and dance along his palm, a quiet storm only for the two of them. He looks up at Steve and for the _first_ time, Steve realizes Thor’s had a brown eye this whole time. He’s always so captivated by the blueness of Thor’s eyes, the sparkle or the light that he never registered they were _different_ colors. Eye infection, Rocket had asked.

“What happened to your eye?” Steve asks.

Thor pulls his eyelid up and in a disgusting display of body horror, Steve sees him pull the brown eye out and show it to Steve. It’s mechanical, a little ball of wires and technology that Steve’s certain Earth could put to good use.

“My sister took my eye out.” Thor keeps his eyes downcast. “I have a sister, by the way. The Goddess of Death. Or had. She’s hopefully dead now.”

“Hopefully.” Steve’s not sure he should be shocked or horrified at how casual Thor is speaking to him about this right now. There’s an entire chapter—no—book that Steve’s missing from Thor’s life.

“I don’t want you to be anything more than you are, Steve. I don’t want pity. I don’t want someone walking on their tiptoes around me. I just want you the way you’ve always been. My friend. And I absolutely want someone to fuck.” He laughs deep in his chest. “So that I can keep going without needing pity. Because it’s a bandage on an open wound and I know it’s not healthy to handle it this way, but that’s what I want. And I know you of all people respect that.”

Steve is silent for a long moment. Thor isn’t easy to open up. He, like Steve, doesn’t want to throw emotional baggage on others. He doesn’t want to be doted upon when he has an injury and he certainly doesn’t want to be seen as weak. Steve’s mouth curves from a line to a smirk. He slips back atop Thor’s body and undulates his hips, a fine show for Thor’s eyes alone.

“So does this mean you don’t think I’m pretty?” Steve asks.

Thor’s hands go to Steve’s ass and he squeezes. “Oh you’re very pretty.”

Steve lets Thor roll him to the bed and pin him down. He likes Thor’s weight atop him, how Thor’s body is rough, heavy and burning with lust. Thor’s cock shoves into Steve’s pelvis and Steve’s body sizzles, his muscles quaking with want. He doesn’t have to turn his brain off. He doesn’t have to hide that he loves Bucky. Thor doesn’t need his love. Neither of them need each other to love them. They just need each other’s understanding. Love isn’t always about romance. Sometimes it’s respect and just friendship. Love comes in many forms. Thor doesn’t need romantic love. He needs physical desire and intimate touches. Kisses that morph from laving tongues to nipping teeth.

Thor’s hands squeeze at Steve’s chest and it pulls a groan from Steve’s body. He feels his nipples being twisted rubbed hard. He bites down on Thor’s lip again and growls.

“You like that?” Thor asks, husky and deep.

“Yeah. Play with my tits.”

Thor purrs and he leans forward, his mouth latching onto a nipple and Steve wraps his arms around Thor’s head and scratches his nails along Thor’s scalp. Thor’s mouth is hot, his tongue greedy. He plays with Steve’s chest, pushing and tugging on muscles, his breath hot. He kisses a wet line from one nipple to another before biting his new prey.

Steve hisses, his nails scratching down Thor’s neck enough to draw blood.

“Rough pleases you?” Thor asks.

“Fuck yeah.” 

“I like this side of you.” Thor pulls Steve’s pants off and traces a finger up his length.

Steve bucks forward, hissing but Thor ignores his wants. He smooshes Steve’s pecs together and laughs. “What?” Steve asks, breathless and blushing.

“Almost like a woman.”

“Wanna fuck em?” Steve isn’t sure about Thor’s dick in his ass, but he’s sure he wants Thor intimately. He’s not sure about whether he wants Thor to be the first man to enter him or if he wants to keep that for Bucky—if Bucky would even do it at all. And if it’s not Bucky, then Steve isn’t sure he wants to give that last bit of himself to someone at all. So he’s not ready, not yet. He needs time to think and consider his own boundaries. But he knows he wants this right now.

“You’re a different person in bed, Steve.” Thor kisses Steve hard on the mouth, a bruising force that leaves Steve’s lips burning and chin heated from where beards brush against each other.

“Shut up and fuck me.” Steve doesn’t want to break the illusion he’s confident. He’s not confident. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know where it’s going. He just knows he wants it. He needs to think about it—all of it, but not now. Thor’s hard and the tip of his cock is peeking out of his waistband and it’s the sexiest fucking thing Steve’s ever seen. His mouth waters—actually waters and it takes all of his strength not to get on his knees and worship Thor’s dick.

Thor takes Steve’s hands and moves them beside Steve’s chest where he pushes and together, their hands form mounds of Steve’s pecs, perfect little tits for Thor’s big cock to rub between.

Steve’s mouth is slack, watching in half amazement and half-drunken lust. His cock is throbbing but he’s so afraid if he touches it, he’ll come. He doesn’t want this to be another sparring incident where he came suddenly and without warning. He wants this to last.

Thor spits onto his dick and strokes himself a few times, making the skin glisten. He smiles down at Steve, his pupils dilated. He slips his dick between Steve’s pecs and lets the tip bump Steve’s mouth.

Steve moans, his hips bucking.

“Steady down there.” Thor brings a hand back to Steve’s balls and squeezes them.

Steve watches Thor’s cock thrust in and out between his pecs. He licks at it, desperate to get his lips around it again. Thor lets him every now and then, and Steve sucks on it appreciatively before it’s pulled away again. Each thrust of Thor’s hips pushes Steve into the bed and he has to breathe in tune to Thor’s thrusts. His chest is hot and his nipples ache to be fingered. He keeps his hands where Thor had placed them to ensure Thor fucks him right.

Thor’s hand slips between Steve’s crack and leans back, still thrusting but fingering Steve’s rim.

Steve gasps, his eyes slipping shut. He’s never felt so used before—but in a way that leaves him feeling special and desired. He thinks about Bucky’s cock tracing along his lips. How Bucky’s metal fingers would feel slipping in and out of his ass. He moans, his cock jerking between his legs.

Thor thrusts quicker and his finger is gone from Steve’s rim. He uses the wall to balance himself as he fucks Steve’s tits, his tip bumping Steve’s bearded chin, meeting an eager tongue and needy lips.

He grunts, letting Steve suckle the tip into his mouth. Eager, Steve massages his tongue around it, playing with the slit and underside until he feels Thor force himself into Steve’s mouth and spray hot seed into the back of his throat. Steve doesn’t stop sucking. He looks up at Thor’s face, watching his jaw go slack, the way his veins in his neck raise. Thor pumps himself back and forth in Steve’s mouth, forcing Steve’s jaw to widen and widen until his eyes are watery and his jaw aches.

Thor pulls himself away and turns to suck Steve’s cock, leaving his hard and dangling in front of Steve’s mouth. He scoops Steve’s cock into his mouth and eagerly bobs up and down on it, his tongue swirling around its girth and tracing throbbing veins.

Steve latches onto Thor again, his hand now rubbing at Thor’s balls and one on his thigh, just listlessly tracing shivering skin.

Steve comes quickly. He moans around the length of Thor’s cock in his mouth, sucking with more vigor as he shivers through orgasm. He feels it rise and rise, heat pooling in his belly and shooting from his cock. His fingers trembling, eyes blurring so he screws them shut. He bobs his head back and forth, sucking—sucking.

Brown hair tickles his thighs. Blue eyes look back at him to make sure he’s still there. Metal fingers trace sensitive skin. Steve could cry. Bucky’s body is the perfect display of honed precision and perfection Steve’s ever seen. Memories sprinkle across his back, freckles that Steve would count as they changed into their sports clothes. A scar from where a bike messenger knocked Bucky on his ass as they were crossing to Prospect Park. Shadows flicker along the dips and planes of his back each time he takes Steve’s length into his mouth.

“Bucky?” Steve asks, breathless and confused.

Bucky looks back at him and doesn’t say anything. He swallows Steve’s cock down and doesn’t break eye contact.

Steve’s body shudders. He feels the way Bucky lowers his cock toward Steve’s mouth and Steve takes it, eager and wanting. He’d do anything with Bucky, anything for Bucky. Bucky was here asking and Steve wouldn’t let him down now.

Bucky’s come filled Steve’s mouth and the exhilaration brought Steve to his own climax. Bucky pulled off Steve, pressing a last, long kiss to the tip of Steve’s cock. Steve stared, eyes locked on the way Bucky looked with thick black eyelashes kissing his cheeks, the flush of red beneath olive, touchable skin.

“You love me right?” Bucky asked, voice hoarse.

“Yes.” Steve wants to move but he’s so afraid if he does, he’ll scare Bucky away.

Bucky slinks up next to Steve and settles his head atop Steve’s shoulder, cradled against Steve’s neck. Steve sighs, wrapping an arm around Bucky. His metal arm is pressed in but it’s not cold, it’s warm even.

“I think about you so much,” Bucky says. “I’m always thinkin’ about you, Steve.”

“Me too,” Steve says. “Thinking about you. I mean. I’m thinking about you too.” Steve flushes red but he smiles when Bucky cracks a wide smile at him.

Bucky presses a soft kiss to Steve’s lips. He brushes a thumb up and down Steve’s beard. “So soft.”

Steve chuckles.

“No it is.” Bucky gets both of his hands in Steve’s beard and scratches up and down. “Everything about you is soft.” Bucky looks at Steve like he’s trying to find something, like there’s more to Steve than even Steve realizes.

“I miss you,” Steve says.

Bucky frowns and his fingers stop moving. “I wish I could tell you how much I love you.”

Steve frowns. They’re together. Bucky, his fingers massaging Steve’s face. Their bodies still flushed from coming. “You can. I’m right here.”

A tear slips down Bucky’s cheek and he wipes it away briskly. “Yeah. If only.”

Steve opens his eyes and finds himself tucked in bed with the blankets wrapped around his naked body. He feels sticky between his legs and sighs in annoyance when he finds drying come on the sheets and coating his thighs. He must’ve come in his sleep, probably to that dream of his. He stands up and slips on his briefs to strip the bed and then makes his way over to the shower.

Once clean, he brings the soiled sheets to the laundry and starts up a load. He turns around and jumps, his hands balling into fists as his body instinctively morphs into a fighting stance.

 

Behind him, Jarvis is standing there, unmoving, unblinking. Vision was always so alive. The dead look in his eyes now—in Jarvis’ eyes—that isn’t Vision. Steve’s heart squeezes.

“You scared the shit out of me!”

“Where do you go when you dream?” Jarvis asks, head tilted. The hole in his head is still there, Steve can see light blink and hum through the wires. Everyone is just energy. The brain lights up too. All anyone is, is just light.

“I don’t understand the question.”

“When you dream. Where do you go?”

Steve’s eyes narrow. “That’s the same question, Jarvis.”

“Forgive me, Captain Rogers. It’s been some time since I had the authority to speak for myself. I find it difficult to explain. When you dream, you leave your body. Where is it that you go?”

Steve stares for a moment before he starts coming up with reasons for Jarvis asking. Jarvis is an AI and he doesn’t dream. That’s what made Ultron so unique was that he could. Maybe it’s just curiosity.

“Oh, uh, sometimes I dream about people in my life. Honestly, dreams are just confusing. You’re pretty lucky not having to have them.” Steve starts walking out of the laundry and Jarvis grabs his hand.

They stare at each other, Steve’s furrowed and intense gaze. Jarvis with his dead eyes and unreadable face.

“That was not why I was asking.”

“Everything okay over here?” Tony asks, looking between Jarvis’ hand and Steve’s expression. “Been looking for you, buddy.” Tony claps Jarvis on the shoulder.

Jarvis looks to where Tony had touched and then up at Steve. He drops Steve’s wrist and bows. “My apologies, Captain Rogers. I guess I’m still adjusting.” Jarvis is lead away by Tony who talks about some ‘numbers I just ran! You really gotta see em, buddy!’

Steve looks to his wrist and frowns at the bruising. He bites his lip, fearful that the Jarvis they brought back has more Ultron in him than is safe. He doesn’t want to admit where he goes in his dreams. He dreams of Bucky, a Bucky that loves him, cherishes him and holds him. A Bucky that he’ll never have. It’s a selfish dream, one full of self-gratifying prose but they’re Steve’s dreams. Why should he apologize to Jarvis for the dreams he has? Why should he feel ashamed? Jarvis asking though, all it did was taint Steve’s opinion of his own dreams. He’d fallen asleep with Thor, only to dream of Bucky.

Steve’s either a slut or a terrible person.

* * *

When Bucky wakes, his pants are soiled and his thighs itch. He thinks he’s pissed himself at first but then when he looks, he knows exactly what’s happened. He wonders if Parker heard him as they slept. The last thing Bucky needs is a fifteen-year-old boy knowing what kind of moans Bucky makes when he comes. That’d be beyond terribly inconvenient. Bucky makes his way over to the water and removes his pants. There are strict instructions on what can or cannot go into the water so Bucky lays his pants down flat and cups his hands and splashes as much water as he can onto the pants before they’re sopping wet. Then he scrubs them together and gets the stains out. Now he just has to sit with his ass literally hanging out until they dry. The morning light should take care of that at least.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Sam asks.

“Laundry.”

Sam’s cheeks are gaunt, his complexion more yellow than warm. They’re all starving and people have become more and more irritable. Bucky isn’t sure they’ll have the strength to keep the people from rioting against each other. He’s not even sure if he wants to be the one with that responsibility. Shepherding the people? That’s all Steve. Bucky’s never been one to care about people he didn’t know. But Steve? Steve’s never met a single person he didn’t care about in some way shape or form. If Steve was here, he would know exactly what to do. But he’s not here. He’s somewhere trying to find them, or Strange says, and Bucky prays.

“At first I thought you were fishing.” Sam sits down next to Bucky and laughs when Bucky’s hands go to cup his dick. “Relax Barnes. I wouldn’t want that near me anyway.”

“Bullshit. I see the way you check me out.”

Sam’s cheeks color and his eyes widen. He laughs loud, slapping his knee. “You’re a little shit you know that?”

Bucky smirks.

They both stare at the little pond. If it didn’t go underground, Bucky thinks they could travel along it, but no one can hold their breath that long and if there is something living in the water, Bucky is damn sure he doesn’t want to be the one to come face to face with it.

“You think Steve’s really comin’ to save us?” Sam asks, his voice vulnerable. He hangs his head low and his eyes suggest he’s afraid to hear the answer. Sam, like Bucky, wishes Steve didn’t have to be the hero in every story. If he could just go home and be a person, Bucky would die gladly knowing Steve at least got to live. But Steve’s never known a life that he wasn’t fighting something. Fighting for his life, his unwavering morals, the guys yelling in the back of the movie theater, the serum, the war, now. Steve doesn’t know how to live without a fight. Bucky fears what that means for the future.

“It’s Steve. What do you think?” Bucky asks, because he doesn’t want to sound hopeful. He doesn’t want Sam to know how desperately Bucky wants to kiss Steve’s lips—his real lips. How he wants to touch Steve’s soft beard and tell him how beautiful he looks with it. He doesn’t want to let the universe know how much he loves Steve Rogers. If it knew, his bad luck would surely condemn Steve.

Sam nods, heaving a heavy sigh. “Wish he’d bring some chicken with him. Maybe some doughnuts.”

“Cheesecake,” Bucky says, mouth-watering and stomach panging.

“Peanut butter.”

“Fuck,” Bucky whispers, grabbing his stomach. “I want peanut butter so bad now.”

“I’d eat an ant honestly if there was one,” Sam smiles, “but don’t tell Scott that.”

Bucky laughs. He leans back, his bones aching, his muscles too weak to support his weight. He drops back, uncaring that he’s naked from the waist down. Sam’s got a dick too.

Sam lays back and together they just stare up at the morning sky. “It’s beautiful, in a way.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. The sky sprawls above them, a never-ending oil painting of the richest oranges, the fluffiest pinks and spattered with blues in every shade. There are thin clouds and they’re white as cotton. Bucky wishes he could look down and see buildings, hear cars. He wishes he could see Steve.

“I love him,” Bucky says aloud.

Sam turns his head but says nothing.

“Steve. I love him.” Bucky’s afraid that he doesn’t say it to someone, then no one will ever now how much Bucky’s heart pines for Steve. Saying it makes his body rush with tingling sensations. He wants to yell it from the tops of his lungs and write it in the stones of this forsaken rock.

“Yeah,” Sam says, “I know.”

“How?”

“Dude don’t ask me how. I just know.” Sam flicks some sand over Bucky’s way. “For what it’s worth, he loves you too.”

Bucky furrows his brow. Of course Steve loves him, the way a brother loves his own brother. “No, I mean like I love him romantically.”

“Yup.” Sam just stares at Bucky. “Your point?”

“And you think Steve loves me like that?” Bucky doesn’t like the childish game of telephone he’s playing, but Steve isn’t here for him to tell him of his love and Sam’s not hiding anything, so why shouldn’t Bucky ask? It feels good to hear it, even if it may mean he’ll never actually hear it from Steve. Bucky could die here for all he knows. He’s not guaranteed a tomorrow. Strange said some with die. He just wouldn’t say who.

“Remember that whole dramatic moment in a German airport where we were fighting Tony? Remember him escaping with you? Him finding you in Romania? You don’t think that’s love? You honestly don’t think that he ain’t crazy about you?” Sam hisses between his teeth. “No wonder ya’ll haven’t had sex in a century.”

“I’ve had—”

“Nah-uh! Hush.” Sam stands up and brushes the red dust from his pants. “Dry your pants and try not to be so loud in your sleep next time. Drax heard you and now he can’t stop talking about it.”

“Oh Jesus.” Bucky winces. He now wishes Peter was the one who’d heard it all.

Bucky stays there in the sand, staring up at the sun that’s beginning to heat his skin to unbearable levels. It’s time they start taking shelter beneath rocks and the makeshift lean-to’s they’ve created. Bucky’s pants are almost dry. He closes his eyes, remembering Steve’s face. He’s always been all angles. Sharp pointed chin when skinny, straight nose. Bucky licks the corner of his lips, thinking he may be wrong. Steve’s ass is round, his thighs thick and curved like a woman’s. His waist is small and his shoulders may be angular, but his chest sure ain’t. Steve is Steve. Shapely and beautiful and Bucky would take him any way he came. Sharp or round. Skinny or thick. Old or young.

He finally stands up and grabs his pants to slip back on. He can already hear Drax’s loud laughter after he turns the corner and sees his group of idiots.

* * *

They’re in a field. Bucky doesn’t know where. He’s not sure if it’s Nazi Germany or even his childhood home in Indiana. The grass is green and smooth, ladybugs humming in the air. Steve’s beside him, skinny and perfect. He’s looking up at the clouds, the freckles on his face catching the light like someone sprinkled just a dash of cinnamon on his face. He looks at Bucky and then he’s big, his freckles subsiding, his eyes growing brighter in their blue vigor.

“Buck?”

Bucky’s eyes water and he can’t find words. He scoots closer and presses his lips to Steve’s. Steve makes a tiny _omf_ and then they’re both opening their mouths for each other. Steve doesn’t have a fancy taste or some special flavor all his own. He’s tongue and saliva and skin. He’s human and imperfect and Bucky nearly cries into his mouth because of how real it all feels.

“I’d give everything to stay with you,” Bucky says, feeling tears fall over his cheeks. “I don’t wanna go away again.”

Steve grabs Bucky’s wrists and his eyes water. He’s tiny again, those freckles sparkling under the yellow sun. His dainty fingers shake and he presses kiss after to kiss to Bucky’s fingers. “I’ll find you.”

Bucky frowns. He knows Steve’s trying to find them, but even in a dream, he doesn’t want Steve to sacrifice his attention, or his time, with Bucky. So he cups this little Steve’s face and kisses his big nose. “Don’t. It’s okay to let go.”

“No!” Steve’s big again, his hair is wet. He has bruising and cuts on his face and Bucky gasps realizing he looks the way he did when Bucky pulled him out of the water. “I’ll never stop looking for you.”

“I wish you’d just live your life!” Bucky can’t say it to the real Steve, so he says it to the one here. “You’ll die you know, if you keep on like this.”

Bucky blinks and Steve now wears his World War II uniform with the brown leather jacket and the blue helmet. He leans close, taking Bucky’s hands in his own. “I don’t want to live in a world that doesn’t have you.”

Bucky snorts. “Fuckin’ drama queen.”

Steve smiles, his brow flicking up briefly. “Yeah. You’d say something like that.”

“I _am_ saying something like that.” Confusion crosses Bucky’s face and he tries to reach out and touch Steve, but Steve’s swirling away, his face changing from small and pointed, sharp and chiseled, beard to no beard. Bucky’s fingers slip right through him.

“No,” Steve whispers. “Not again.”

Bucky doesn’t realize until the last second that it’s he who is swirling away into black ash.

* * *

When Bucky wakes, he hears screaming. Not just a scuffle but a full-on protest. He stands up, his vision blurring for a moment. He’s used to starvation. With the serum, he can even handle it better than most. These people though? They’re all dying and faster than Bucky.

When Bucky comes out from under the rock he’d napped beneath, he sees it. Dr. Strange has his golden disks swirling at his hands. Sam is already up in the air. Drax and the Guardians are all in various fighting stances.

The people are screaming at them. Saying words that Bucky wishes weren’t true. They call them foul names and blame them for what’s happening. They’re hungry and children are starving and it’s about time they get a sacrifice to keep those children safe.

A sacrifice.

Bucky closes his eyes, a shuddery breath leaving him. They want a life to eat.

“This isn’t how we do things!” Sam tries to exclaim over the crowd. Someone throws a rock at his wing and it knocks him a foot before he ascends back up. “Oh, you did not just throw a rock at me!”

“Easy, Sam!” Dr. Strange says. “We have to be patient. If someone dies naturally, fine, but we are not murderers.”

“This is survival!” someone yells and gets concurring affirmations from the crowds. “Someone’s gotta die.”

It doesn’t take long until no one knows which side anyone is on. People turn on each other, and the Guardians spring into action, trying to haul them from each other before teeth land in jugulars. Sam shoots down a smoke grenade and does his best to push and shove people away. Peter shoots webs and ties people up.

This is it. This is the moment where superheroes go too far. These people are starving and who’s right is it to dictate how they live or die? Strange may believe Steve is coming, but Bucky’s always believed destiny doesn’t actually exist. Steve could give up. The world could change. He could somehow hear Bucky’s pleas at night for him to finally just exist without a war.

Bucky sits down, watching the chaos. He knows he should help the others, but a part of him still can’t accept that they’ve taken this protecting the people too far. Eating each other isn’t good, but this isn’t about good or bad anymore. This is survival.

Bucky closes his eyes and listens to the sounds of people clawing at each other. Everyone desperate for a first kill.

A hissing sound and warm heat bears down on Bucky. He cracks an eye open and realizes he’s cast in shadow. When he looks up, there’s a spaceship above him. It moves to the side and lands nearby.

T’Challa comes out. There’s no trace of malnutrition on his features and he has a fucking spaceship. Bucky stands up, lips parting in awe.

“Well, well,” T’Challa says. “Don’t we have quite the commotion?”

* * *

Steve wakes up with Jarvis standing above him. He shrinks back in the bed, finding it empty.

“Where do you go?” Jarvis asks. “Where do you go when you sleep?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Steve tries to get up but Jarvis’ hands come down on his shoulders. He’s strong, even without the mind stone. Steve grits his teeth and pushes back. He gets a leg out and kicks Jarvis in the chest to send him to the other side of the room. “Don’t ask me that ever again!”

Jarvis blinks, looking around the room, his head twitching like he has a short circuit.

Thor comes in and drops to his knees by Jarvis. “What’s going on?”

“He attacked me,” Steve says. “I don’t think he’s all there.”

Thor helps Jarvis up and brushes him off. “Is this true?”

“I asked Captain Rogers a question. He’s the one who grew hostile.” His dead gaze slides to Steve and it’s enough to make the hairs on the back of Steve’s neck raise. “I asked him where he goes when he sleeps.”

“He goes to bed. That’s what people do.” Thor ushers Jarvis out of the room. “You should find Stark.”

They speak and Steve tries to hear it, but when Thor closes the door, it’s nothing but muffled back and forth. He sighs, pinching his nose. So much for a nap. Steve likes to nap because he sees Bucky. Each time it feels so real, but there’s something fantastical enough about it that grounds him in the awareness that it’s all fake. Just a dream. The ashes. The impossible grass meadows that float like clouds. The ever-changing way Bucky’s body morphs from what he used to look like, to what he did as the Winter Soldier, to the White Wolf. Everything.

Thor comes back into the room and closes the door, his body blocking it. “Jarvis believes he can sense you when you dream.”

“That’s great.”

“Where do you go when you dream, Steve?” Thor asks.

“Jesus. Not you too!” Steve runs his fingers through his hair. “Just leave me alone about my dreams okay! They’re mine!”

“I think this is far more important than a simple dream.” Thor steps closer, his face grim. “Tell me, please.”

“I don’t know where I go! I just see Bucky. We—talk or sometimes kiss and then he turns to ash and I wake up. Different story, same ending. Every time.”

Thor nods, his finger tracing along his lips.

“Could we just stop talkin’ about it now? C’mere and kiss me or something.” Steve pulls the covers back and Thor rumbles out an approving chuckle and folds his body against Steve’s.

They do kiss. It’s soft and unhurried like they’ve done it all their lives. Like they’re the ones in love and not the ones who need salves on the soul. Each kiss makes Steve melt into the bed. He pulls Thor atop him and they rub their cocks together.

“You turn me on so much,” Steve says. “Take your pants off and lemme suck you.”

“No. Not right now.” Thor separates them and looks to his big hands, contemplative. He looks over at Steve and then back at his hands again. “I think Jarvis should examine you when you sleep.”

“What?”

“It concerns him enough, so something must be happening!”

“I’m asleep, Thor! Nothing is happening!”

“Something is! I don’t wake you but I hear you!”

Steve would stumble back if he wasn’t already lying down. He clutches his throat and braces himself that way instead.

“You say his name. You whisper in a language I do not know the language to. You draw him in your sleep. You walk in your sleep. I’m the one who puts you back to bed each time! So yes, I think Jarvis should look at you!”

“I don’t want that thing near me!”

“IT’S JARVIS!” Thor booms and there’s a shudder of thunder that echoes into the room.

Steve visibly jumps in his skin. He stares up at Thor with accusatory eyes, his lip barely quivering. “Get out of my room.”

“Steve—”

“I said get out of my room!” Steve throws a pillow at Thor for emphasis. “You rip the last thing I have of Bucky away and I’ll never forgive you.”

Thor presses his lips together. He grabs his mechanical eye and darts from the room, taking all the light, life and comfort from Steve. Angrily, Steve doesn’t go after him. He curls up in his bed and pouts because he doesn’t know what else to do. He dreams. He sees Bucky when he dreams. Why does that need to be any more important than that? His dreams, whatever he does in them, are his business. He doesn’t need a super-genius robot in his head poking and prodding about his dreams.

Steve turns over in the bed, already feeling cold without Thor there. He shouldn’t have yelled. There was absolutely no reason for him to lose his temper with someone who’s been so good to him. Sighing, Steve rubs his face and tries to muster up the energy to go after Thor and apologize. He swings his legs out of the bed and watches his heels hit the floor with a dull thud.

Standing is easy. When Steve gets to the doorknob though, it’s impossible to walk out of the room. He stands there, pressing his forehead to the door and listens to his breathing, eyes closed. He wishes he could just open the door and find Thor. But for some reason, it’s not that easy. He thinks about their relationship and what it’s been doing, if any of it has been okay when he feels so strongly for Bucky. He thinks maybe this is for the best and they should just end it before it gets any more complicated. What would happen if Steve told Bucky he loved him, and Bucky loved him back—but there was Thor? Steve would have to explain it all.

He takes a step back from the door and fights his feet who so obstinately want to still run for Thor. Turning around, he crawls back into bed and stares at the wall.

* * *

Thor’s heart is racing. He walks the length of the property, feet pressing into soft soil beneath his feet. He wants to punch something. Punching feels good. Feeling scared and confused doesn’t. Thor hadn’t meant to upset Steve. He’d just tried to explain what Jarvis couldn’t, but he should’ve known better. Steve is touchy when it comes to Bucky, and Thor has appreciated and respected that up until that moment. But Thor thought Steve would jump at a chance to see if there may be something more involved with his dreams. Though, Thor’s shoulders deflate, when Steve said it was the last thing he had of Bucky.

There’s a chance that Bucky doesn’t love Steve the way Steve loves Bucky. Thor doesn’t know Bucky. He’s never even met him. They saw each other on the battlefield in Wakanda but not once did Thor speak to him. So if this is the only thing Steve has, Thor wants to respect that boundary.

He thought he’d been careful before. Open and host communication. A definite “this will end” kind of deal, but humans are short-sighted. They see having a partner is some big life ordeal. They only have a handful of them before settling down. Thor’s been with many people, varying species, genders, and an assortment of other differences. He’s been with them for their entire lives, not even a day’s length, a century, a week, whatever time and he’s probably done it. He’s fifteen hundred years old. There’s still so much life he has left. He’s willing to give Steve however long or short of time Steve needs and must understand, no matter what, that humans do not view romance the way Asgardians do. A life partner is a rare find for Asgardians. It’s not unheard of and absolutely celebrated, but it’s often hard to find. Or there’ll be multiple partners for various stages of life. Either way, Thor had never seen himself as the type to pick a life partner.

Thor stops at the edge of the tree line and looks up at the sun peeking down from between the leaves. He heaves a sigh and takes a seat on the earthen ground. This is the only home he has now. His father is dead. Loki is dead. He’s not sure where Valkerie went with the remaining numbers of his people but he hopes they’re all safe, though he knows that to be unlikely. Thanos wanted half, so he decimated half the amount of the half that already remained. A quarter, maybe, is all that is left of Asgard.

“It’s a people,” Thor whispers to no one. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs again.

“I’m sorry,” a voice says.

Thor turns to see Steve, his hair all messed up and his eyes puffy. Thor would never say it, but Steve is a beautiful crier. He’s delicate in the way he sheds tears, each one is forced out because Steve can’t hold them back anymore. That makes it so much more special when Thor sees him cry.

Steve jams his hands into the pockets of his sleeping pants and says again, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be,” Thor says. “I was invasive.”

“No.” Steve sits beside Thor, their shoulders brushing together. He’s the best of them, Steve. From his endearing smile to his unwavering belief in the goodness inside people. He’s the best of the Avengers and Thor sees it right down into Steve’s soul. “I got defensive when I shouldn’t have.”

“I think it best we just—not talk about it.” Thor doesn’t want to upset Steve anymore. He doesn’t want to push the subject or continue deflecting Steve’s apologies. Steve owes Thor nothing. Apologies or anything else.

Steve frowns. “I don’t want you to leave me.” He sounds so small. There’s a vulnerability there that Thor’s never seen before, a fear that creeps around the edges of Steve’s mouth and eyes. Thor wants to kiss that fear away, but he’s been having trouble finding the boundaries Steve keeps setting and then moving.

Thor would be content to just kiss Steve or sleep in the same bed with him. But Steve does want more, and he gives more and Thor thinks Steve is one of the most beautiful creatures he’s ever seen. Thor isn’t ready for love again, but he’s no idiot. Steve is a rarity because he’s both beauty inside and out. There’s nothing false or manipulative about him. What he is, is exactly what he is. He is stubborn as an ox and he wouldn’t change himself for anyone.

Well. Maybe Bucky.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“I saw you walking away from the compound and I just—I panicked. I thought you were gonna leave.”

“So you ran out here in your sleep pants to stop me?” Thor asks, smiling.

Steve blushes from his ears down his throat. Thor watches the color swirl in his creamy skin. He wants to reach out, to touch Steve’s silken skin and run his coarse padded fingers against such a delicate complexion. How is someone like Steve, so battle-experienced, still so soft?  

“That was kind of you,” Thor says, “but I’m not leaving you.”

“I’ve just got all these thoughts in my head.” Steve runs his fingers through his hair. “It’s all so, loud in here. I just—I don’t know what to do about it.”

“And it is?”

“You and Buck. I love Bucky. More than anything but—I’d be lying if—if I didn’t—”

Thor nods, his mind already putting the silent words into their proper spots. He puts an arm around Steve’s shoulders and brings him in close. “You don’t love me. You love him. Caring for me and loving him don’t have to be the same thing. Relationships don’t have to be one person or the other. Love isn’t just romantic.”

“I know all this. I’ve said it to myself already.”

“You fear you’ll fall in love with me.” It’s a statement, not a question.

Steve doesn’t answer, but the way he averts his eyes is the only response Thor needs. He wishes he could say something to make the worry dissipate, but Thor’s never been good at controlling other people’s emotions. He’s never been very good at controlling even his own. Loki was the master manipulator. Thor has always been like Steve. What you see is what you get.

“Would that be so bad?” Thor asks, pushing all the luck in the universe.

Steve purses his lips. He stares at the green grass around them, the wind blowing through his hair. It’s gentle outside in the sunlight on a mild day. It makes Steve look even softer than usual.

“I know our boundaries,” Thor says, quickly backing up his question. “We’ll end it if it gets close to that.”

Steve still doesn’t say anything. Finally, after a long beat, listing to the birds and rustling leaves, Steve says, “It’s not that it’d be bad. It’s just that it’d be wrong.”

Thor listens. There is no sadness in Steve putting walls up with Thor. Those walls were always expected. Thor entered this knowing what it was. He had no intentions otherwise. But loving Steve wouldn’t be so bad, if it happened. Thor loves Steve already, but in a way that doesn’t violate the bond they have. He’s a close friend and confidante, but he’s not Thor’s lover. A lover, yes, but not _his_ lover. Steve’s heart belongs to Bucky. Humans find a single person and deem that person their soulmate. Asgardians don’t believe in soulmates, but that give Thor the right to meddle in that. He’ll live thousands of more centuries. He doesn’t need to push Steve in the wrong direction. Steve is, after all, only human.  

“In my dreams, it’s just me and Bucky. We profess our love to each other. We kiss. Other stuff.”

“You don’t have to tell me this.” Thor puts a hand up but Steve just shrugs.

“It’s fine. They’re only dreams.”

“They’re important to you.”

“Sometimes the dreams don’t make sense, or like we’re both not seeing the other half of a conversation but, it’s a dream so what does my mind know right? Bucky confessing his love for me is kind of a dead giveaway it’s bullshit.”

Thor frowns. “You put yourself down so easily. You’re magnificent. Anyone with eyes should see that.”

“Men don’t fall in love with men,” Steve says like the blunt end of a rusted knife. “Especially where we come from.”

“I think it’s absurd that humans put limits on who they can or cannot love. Asgardians don’t care about any of that. I can’t even—I can sympathize. But I don’t know how to empathize. People are all capable of love. Why restrict it?”

Steve lets out a bitter laugh, a snarl coiling his pouted, red lips. “Because God.”

Thor cocks a brow.

“The bible says it’s wrong so it’s wrong. Ya know, after all I’ve been through—I still believe in God. And if God’s real, then He knows me more than anyone else does. So he knows how I feel and he still blessed me with what I can do. So it’s bullshit that it’s wrong, or God wouldn’t have saved me so many times. I would’ve died a skinny kid and Bucky would’ve died in World War II. But I didn’t, so God must not hate me. So it only makes this all the more frustrating because I know that it’s not wrong. But so many others don’t.” Steve swallows thickly and presses his face into Thor’s shoulder. He breathes hard, fighting the anger and frustration he feels away as best as he can. He’s failing, but Thor commends him all the same.

“I just wish people didn’t care so much about what other people do. Then maybe he would’ve loved me.”

Thor opens his mouth but Tony, Bruce and Jarvis walk up to them. Tony’s face is strained and Jarvis looks on with lifeless eyes— on face Thor believed in and trusted. Now that same face has a hole and it doesn’t smile or quirk its lips like it used to before telling an absurd joke. Thor’s not even sure Jarvis can tell jokes.

“Steve, we really need to talk to you,” Tony says.

“What’s up?”

“Jarvis told us about some strange happenings going on and we really need to do a sleep study on you.”

“Excuse me?” Steve’s body tenses against Thor’s.

“If Jarvis is correct, then you’re actually bridging between the two dimensions already when you sleep. With Bucky. I mean when Bucky and you both sleep at the same time, you two link up and form a bridge. We’re just guessing right now but Jarvis has shown us the calculations and it looks promising.”

Thor watches Steve’s whole body turn sheet white. He jerks away from Thor like he’s been burned and stares at his hands, panting.

Thor knows Bucky comes first, he doesn’t mind that. But he does, selfishly, wish he had had more time with Steve. He witnesses everything changing now, Steve’s walls flying up in record time. All good things must end and this is no exception. Thor still has his friend.

“Okay,” Steve says, standing. “Okay what do we do?”

“You just need to take a nap.” Tony says.

* * *

When Steve makes his way back to his room, Thor is standing outside his door. Steve’s groggy from the tranquilizers they used on him and he could go for another nap, but Steve saw the way Thor looked outside when they talked about there being a bridge.

Steve had panicked. He didn’t know which Bucky’s were the real ones or which were fake. He’s not sure if he’s kissed Bucky and Bucky’s kissed back or if it’s all just been some beautiful lie. A bridge between dimensions… And there is Steve using it to blow Bucky in his dreams. He grabs his gut and wonders with grave embarrassment if that one was a real or fake Bucky. Who makes the dreams and where they go or what positions they find themselves in? Steve has a terrible suspicion that it’s him.

“Hey,” Steve says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. His hands are sweaty.

“Hello,” Thor says back, arms crossed. There’s an air of discomfort between them, something unsaid that Steve knows he has to say first, but doesn’t quite know how to say it. He’s never been good with words.

“I’m sorr—”

Thor puts his hand up and shakes his head. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Steve rolls on his feet. “I feel like I’m always tryin’ to apologize to you. I just—I know this changes things. I just don’t know how it changes things.” Steve looks at Thor’s wide chest. He wants to slam his face into it and just fall asleep, wrapped up in large arms and heat. He feels a bit of a pull at the bottom of his heart. Is it cheating now? Which Bucky said he loved him and which Bucky was just the dream? Steve doesn’t know what he can trust anymore.

“I’m your friend, Steve,” Thor says, “I’ve always been.”

Steve wants to hug Thor. He pouts, thinking about how easy it should be and yet here he is, standing there with a gloomy expression and ice in his chest. Everything’s so complicated. Steve wants to believe his life isn’t complicated, but that’s a lie. Steve’s been complicated since he came out of the womb with two fists in the air. He was a rough child, a rough teen, and lived an exceptional young adult life. He feels so old now, so tired. But he hasn’t lived—not truly. He’s been frozen for most of his life. Beyond his life. Some would say he was given a gift but Steve doesn’t see it that way. Life is complicated for him. Had he not been frozen, maybe it wouldn’t have been.

But then he would’ve never met Thor.

“Please don’t sleep somewhere else,” Steve whispers, looking at Thor’s chest still. “I don’t wanna be alone.”

There’s a long silence and Steve feels it in his gut. It churns with glass and regret and everything uncomfortable that he’s ever encountered. He wants to gobble back his words and apologize, but he knows Thor wouldn’t accept it.

“Alright.”

Together, they go into the bedroom. Steve slips out of his clothes, Thor doing the same. Silently, they crawl into bed together and Steve folds into Thor’s large body. He pushes his nose into Thor’s chest and listens to Thor’s beating heart. Rhythmic. Steady. Slow. Steve’s is hammering against his sternum. He’s afraid of dreaming with Bucky while he sleeps in Thor’s arms. He’s afraid that this is where he crosses the line from honesty to something more sinister. Half-truths. Exceptions. Lies. Steve’s not sure what he’s doing now.

“When you find him, you’ll tell him,” Thor suddenly says, reading Steve’s mind. “He’ll understand.”

Steve pushes his cheek against Thor, brows crinkled and mind adrift. He wants to believe Thor, part of him does. But facing Bucky in his dreams and facing Bucky in the flesh are two different concepts. He’s not sure a real Bucky would understand. He’s not sure a real Bucky even wants to be what Steve’s made them be in their dreams.

“Go to sleep,” Thor says.

Steve does.

Steve’s sitting in a tent, the sounds of bombs and gunfire like thunder around him. Distant thunder, far away. There’s a comfort in hearing the tumbling but a fear of good soldiers dying. It’s not a gentle storm but a terrifying one, one full of anger and malice toward his people. One that kills instead of soothes.

“Hey,” someone says behind him.

He turns to see Bucky, dressed in a soft olive shirt, the hairs on his chest exposed. Steve looks down before he looks up, his eyes drawn to the hug of Bucky’s pants around his hips, his chest, his jaw. Steve nearly gasps when he looks up at Bucky’s delicate eyes.

“Hey,” Steve says back.

Bucky comes into the tent and picks up a gun, looks at the barrel, checks the chamber. Puts it down. “All I do is sleep now.”

Steve feels that’s all he does too. Hooked up before, there’d been no dreams—no real dream with Bucky, at least. Tony, Bruce, Shuri and Jarvis all waited for something that didn’t happen.

“But I feel like I missed you,” Bucky says. Steve knows it’s him, they’re joined, dimensions apart but joined at the soul.

“I’m coming for you, Buck.” Steve doesn’t stand up from the chair, he feels if he does his legs will turn to jelly and in a dream, he’s not so sure that isn’t possible.

“I know,” Bucky says with a flick of his brows. “Can’t say that I’m not grateful.”

“Is it always you?” Steve asks. “When I dream, is it always you?”

Bucky sighs, running a hand over his face. This is the most lucid they’ve ever been together, an understanding between them. They’re real, they’re here. No half-conversations. No quick kisses, or desperate wishes. They’re real, and they act as such. Timid, afraid. Careful.

“Yeah,” Bucky whispers. “I didn’t know it was you though.”

Steve frowns. “It’s disorienting, yeah?”

Bucky smirks. There’s a spark in his eyes and it’s delicate, almost like the Bucky that Steve knew before the War. Before the Winter Soldier, Hydra, Wakanda. Before everything except them. In the beginning, God created Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. In the beginning, Steve never knew how much he’d miss it.

“I don’t know what to say,” Steve says. “The things I’ve done to you.”

“Done to me?” Bucky frowns. “Steve—I did—what I’ve done to _you_.”

“I love you,” Steve says, because at this point, what does he have to lose? Bucky’s a whole dimension away and here they are, connected, together—in a tent, surrounded by German hostiles and Hydra schemers. None of them are real, but Steve can’t help the memory. People died. Good people, good families. All destroyed by a war.

Bucky walks forward, tears wetting his eyes. He drops to his knees in front of Steve and drops his head into Steve’s lap. A tremble rips through him and he clings harder to Steve, face obscured in Steve’s Army greens.

Steve runs his fingers through Bucky’s hair. He doesn’t know if this is the right time to bring up Thor. He doesn’t know if this is the right time to bring up Bucky to Thor when he wakes. He can feel himself slipping through, fading from the dream. Something hooks behind his bellybutton and it pulls gently, a kind reminder that Steve must wake. He can’t stay here forever.

“Buck.” Steve lifts Bucky’s chin. “Would you kiss me?”

Bucky does. It’s shy and reverent, wet and salty. It’s careful and curious. Relaxed and remorseful. Bucky runs his tongue over Steve’s bottom lip and he lets a sob pass his lips. Steve kisses him through the tears. This is real, even if a dream. When they see each other again, Bucky will remember this. Steve will remember this.

“When this is over,” Bucky says, “please, just please stop fighting.”

Steve frowns, perplexed. He opens his mouth to say something but he falls from his chair, falls through the ground and then he’s spiraling through smears of color, explosions and a sound that pierces his brain, a scream so terrifying that he may die from it.

He opens his eyes, Thor is asleep next to him, the room is quiet and soft. He sits up, doing his best to catch his breath. Bucky wants him to stop fighting. With Thanos out there. With the world—no, universe destroyed. Bucky still wants him to stop fighting. He scrubs his face with his fingers, tired despite the hours of sleep he’s already had. Steve has always thought he’s given up so much for Bucky, that he’s defied so much for Bucky. But there’s always been a fight, a war, a conflict. There’s no conflict now. The universe lays in ruin, but conflict will rise again when Steve brings everyone back. What then? When it’s Bucky the one who asks Steve to stop? What then?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on these social media platforms:  
> [Tumblr](http://buckmebxrnes.tumblr.com/)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ghostbuckster)


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